


open hearts, open minds

by candyharlot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Future Fic, IwaOi Are Best Friends, Kink Negotiation, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Metamours to Lovers, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Rough Sex, Slow Build, Switching, Ushijima shows up later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyharlot/pseuds/candyharlot
Summary: Since the beginning Oikawa has been very insistent on one thing: just because he's dating Ushijima, does not mean he's dating Tendō - and he plans on keeping it that way. Tendō, however, has other ideas.The UshiOiTen OT3 fic that no one asked for but I had to write. Additional characters/tags to be added as story progresses. On Hiatus.





	1. a nice(?) surprise

Oikawa hates those red leather pants with every fiber of his being.

If he could, he’d throw them in an incinerator, or somewhere they’d never be found, maybe somewhere where they could die in peace, far away from the hands of Tendō Satori. Or more accurately, somewhere far, far away from Tendō’s poor excuse for an ass.

 _And yet._ Oikawa feels his face heat up as he watches Tendō bend over to get something out of the bottom shelf of the freezer— _Oikawa’s_ freezer, that he’d bought with his own hard-earned money. Even in the dim light of the early morning sun he can still see how the leather dips into every. Little. Crevice. He nearly chokes on his own spit as Tendō wiggles his hips, hums a little tune. Not a care in the fucking world.

The nerve.

“So… Remind me why you’re here, again?” Oikawa folds his arms across his bare chest as he leans against the doorframe. It’s cold. He’s still in his boxers because _someone_ made such a racket trying (and failing) to unlock the door that Oikawa had no time to think about things like clothes.

Imagine his surprise when the “intruder” entering his apartment earlier was revealed to be none other than the famous Tendō Satori, panting and cursing after lugging two suitcases up a flight of stairs. “Someone’s out of shape,” Oikawa had quipped; after all, just because _he_ was half-asleep didn’t mean his wit had to be.

“Ha ha” Tendō had muttered as he shoved his way in the door.

That had been half an hour ago. Oikawa now regrets making coffee for the man bouncing around his apartment. “Your precious _Wakatoshi-kun_ is in Miyagi visiting family and won’t be back for a week,” he informs Tendō. “There’s nothing here for you.”

“Aw, Tōru-kun! That’s not true!” Tendō straightens up with a flourish and sets a tupperware container on the counter. His triumphant smile makes Oikawa want to slap him. “ _You’re_ here. Don’t sell yourself so short.”

Oikawa immediately recognizes the container as the remnants of the sweet curry he made himself a couple of nights ago. He moves to put it back. “Find your own damned food, you leech,” Oikawa growls as he slams the freezer door. He’s usually a morning person, he swears, but this awakening was...rude, to say the least. “Since when do you care about _me_? It’s not like you and I are...are...”

The words die in Oikawa’s throat as Tendō shrugs out of his jacket. He’s wearing a loose-fitting black crop top with some designer’s name written in big silver letters—but Oikawa’s eyes are currently glued to the pale skin of Tendō’s chest and the nipple piercing glinting in the light.

_Well. That’s new._

Maybe it’s because he’s still waking up, but Oikawa doesn’t notice Tendō close the distance between them, not until there’s an index finger tugging at the waistline of his boxers. He promptly slaps it away. He’s _cranky_ , he wants to go back to sleep—in the soft king-sized bed he normally shares with his boyfriend, Ushijima.

The same boyfriend he also shares with Tendō on occasion. But, as he’s already stated, Ushijima isn’t _here._

“Aw, come on,” Tendō says with a coy tilt of his head. “Didn’t ya miss me?”

“Of course, Sacchan. How could I _not_ miss this?” Oikawa conjures the most saccharine voice he can manage at 6:41AM. “I love when you wake me up at fuck o’clock in the morning and expect me to feed you. Ushiwaka-chan is lucky to have you.”

The slow grin that spreads across Tendō’s face sends a shiver from Oikawa’s neck down to his toes. His black eyeliner is smudged in a way that accentuates the perpetual dark circles but instead of making him look ridiculous like it would anyone else, it just adds to his intensity. Feral is the word that comes to mind.

Oikawa hates it almost as much as he hates the leather pants.

“Fine. Have it your way, pretty boy,” Tendō hums, stretching his lanky arms above his head. His shirt rides up so high that his chest is visible again. Apparently _both_ nipples are pierced.

Great.

“I usually do.” Oikawa shoves Tendō out of the way so he can get to the fridge. He grabs a pitcher of filtered water and two glasses from the cabinet. “I need to get ready for work,” he says as he pours. “I got a coaching gig at the nearby high school. We have a staff meeting this morning so I have to go in. I’m guessing you’re off to Tokyo after you’re done making my life hell?”

“Always to the point,” Tendō yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. “And yep. Gonna meet up with some people, throw around ideas. Maybe go to that fancy martini bar you like so much.” He waggles his thin eyebrows. “Wanna join? It’s a bunch of artsy types. Might be a nice change of scenery.”

“Tempting. You know I have a reputation to maintain as a professional athlete, I can’t be seen with just anyone.” _Least of all “artsy types” like you who make questionable life choices._ “Besides, I have work.”

“Didn’t stop you before.” Tendō leans back against the counter, glancing at Oikawa over the rim of the glass. It's a knowing look. Oikawa ignores it. “They still ask about you from time to time, you know.”

Oikawa rations out enough coffee for the French press and turns on the electric kettle. He’s going to need more caffeine if he’s going to get through this day. “Of course they do, I’m not easy to forget.”

Tendō always knows just how to bait him.

“So… What do they say?”

✾✾✾

Wrangling teenage girls on only four hours of sleep is never fun, but Oikawa has won tournaments on less. He stumbles through supervising morning gym classes with a thermos always in hand. It’s off-season for professional volleyball, so coaching pays his rent in the meantime. Ushijima never has to resort to such measures – he somehow always has enough in savings to support himself.

Oikawa was perplexed over how this was possible until he realized: Ushijima barely leaves their apartment unless it’s for volleyball, family, or at the behest of his partners. He always looks for sales on groceries. He wears clothes until there are holes in them. There was a time in their relationship when Oikawa would drag him out for dates every weekend but they barely have the time for that anymore. They don't have the energy at the end of the day after volleyball and other responsibilities. _We’re getting old_ , Oikawa realizes with a grimace _. We’re domestic. I’m_ domestic _with Ushijima Wakatoshi._

Oikawa scoffs to himself as he watches the kids run around the gym in a game of dodgeball. _You really can’t make this shit up._

Lucky for them, Tendō has a strange way of uprooting their lives just when things have settled down enough to become stale. He disrupts the status quo simply by _existing_. Oikawa is in top form physically but still has no idea how Tendō does it – the traveling, the parties, the press. Every now and then curiosity will get the best of him and he’ll browse photos from Tendō’s latest excursions into the limelight. It’s like his body froze at eighteen - he still has that endless stamina and limber body. The only thing that’s changed is his hair, which has grown long enough now that he often pulls it into a spiky bun.

Also, as Oikawa was reminded bright and early this morning, there are the piercings.

His phone vibrates once – no, _twice_ in his pocket while a routine staff meeting is being held. He’s already bored out of his mind and he’s sitting in the back, so why not take a risk? Who knows, it could be Ushijima, asking him how his day is going.

Or not.

_lizard gremlin has sent you (1) image._

He _could_ just wait until the meeting was over, until he’s back at his desk. This would be the smart thing to do, but Oikawa is weak when it comes to mysteries like unread text messages. Curiosity nags at him. Teasing.

Three erratic heartbeats later he opens it.

Tendō’s lithe half-naked body lights up his screen. His houseguest appears to be fresh out of the shower – there’s a black towel perched precariously around his hips. Oikawa’s eyes are instantly drawn to the “V” there, the beginning of the tattoo that he knows travels from his right hip all the way down to his knee.

A hot mess of shame and lust washes over him and pools in his gut when he thinks about what _else_ the towel is hiding.

Oikawa nearly bites a hole through his bottom lip in an effort to keep a groan from escaping. His thumbs tremble as he struggles to type out a response.

me (11:12 AM): what the fuck.

He practically vibrates in his chair as he watches the typing indicator blink.

lizard gremlin (11:13 AM): lmao sorry not sorry~ see u when u get home, Tōru-chan!!

lizard gremlin (11:13 AM): try not to think about me too much.. huehue ಠﭛಠ

Oikawa nearly chokes on the spearmint gum he'd been idly chewing for the last half hour. He clears his throat and shoves the phone back into his pocket, ignoring the stares from those around him.

_I'm going to murder him._

✾✾✾

He spends his lunch break at his desk instead of in the cafeteria with his co-workers. Usually he packs a healthy bento for himself, but there was no time to do so this morning for…obvious reasons. He picks the lettuce and tomatoes off of the packaged sandwich he’d swiped from the convenience store around the corner.

Ushijima picks up on the second ring. _‘Oikawa?’_

“Hey.”

Static crackles between them. The reception is shitty in the outskirts of Miyagi, which is where Ushijima’s mother’s side of the family lives. It would be nice if Ushijima weren’t so far away, but some things can’t be helped. Assisting in running the estate while his grandmother recovers from pneumonia is one of them.

_‘Is something wrong?’_

Oikawa opens his mouth to say something glib but thinks better of it. His mind is still trying to piece together the events of the morning, and the text he’d received an hour ago.

 _Just because I’m pissed doesn’t mean I can take it out on everyone else_ . He repeats this back to himself several times to make sure it sticks. _We don’t do that anymore._

Oikawa can hear a house phone ringing in the background, and a female voice answering it. The scrape of wood on wood as a chair is pulled out, probably by Ushijima as he prepares himself for whatever Oikawa wants to say. This is one of the things he adores about Ushijima Wakatoshi – his seemingly endless patience.

He also hates it, because it’s what allows him to love someone like Tendō.

 _It’s also how he can love someone like you_ , a voice pipes up. He takes an angry bite of the sandwich and decides to start off simple.

"How's our dear Obaa-san?" he asks with a mouth full of bread.

Ushijima hums into the phone as he considers. _'Better. She took a walk around the estate today with my assistance.'_

 _Oh._ Oikawa swallows thickly as his heart makes a funny movement in his chest. “That’s...that’s good,” he manages. Whenever Ushijima is gone for longer than a few days it always hits Oikawa like a ton of bricks: how deep, how _soothing_ his voice can be. He used to hate that voice, how emotionless was even when Ushijima was speaking from the heart. Now - after lots of practice - he can pick up on subtle inflections.

' _The doctor came by earlier this morning,'_ Ushijima continues. ' _He says it will be another week or two before she's able to return to the shop.'_

When she's in good health, Ushijima Kameyo runs an apothecary out of the estate. It’s well-known enough that people come from different prefectures to visit. Up until a year ago, she ran it with her husband, but since he'd passed away, the store is only open two days a week. Oikawa still grins when he remembers the old woman commenting on how his skin is his best feature and he should take care of it to avoid premature wrinkles.

Oikawa takes another bite. “I’m sure she’s driving your mom nuts right about now,” he says with a wry smile. “She doesn’t seem like the type to take this kind of thing sitting down.”

 _'Indeed.’_ Oikawa can hear him try to stifle a yawn. _'How is home?'_

 _Home._ Oikawa can't help but feel warm when he thinks about the apartment they now share, how they’ve both worked hard to get where they are.

Then he suddenly remembers who's in it, and scowls, the warmth turning into a boiling rage.

"Someone tried to break in early this morning," he says cooly. "I caught them, so it's no big deal, but I'm pretty rattled."

Ushijima says nothing, but his breathing stops. _Is he shocked? Good. So was I._

Then, _‘What happened?'_

"Oh, you know." Oikawa finishes off his sandwich and licks his fingertips, making a popping noise with each digit. “Lizards love to slip into places uninvited. I’m not even sure how he got past security with a face like that. _Incredibly_ suspicious if you ask me.”

_'Tōru.'_

Oikawa rolls his eyes at the mildly reproachful tone.

"I’m telling the truth, Waka-chan. There's a lizard on our couch _right now_ . He contaminated our bathroom, tried to steal _my_ curry, and now he's probably blasting dubstep in our apartment. I’m waiting on an angry call from our neighbors."

A long-suffering sigh filters through the other end of the line. Oikawa imagines Ushijima pinching the bridge of his nose. _‘Satori.’_

"Bingo! You solved the riddle. Do you want a prize?"

As per usual, Ushijima ignores the sarcasm _. 'I’m afraid that’s my fault. He sent an email months ago requesting my...cooperation.’_

Oikawa blinks. “Cooperation? With _what_?"

_'I’ll forward it to you. Give me a moment.'_

_Ding._ With Ushijima still on the line, Oikawa reluctantly opens his email app. Sure enough, a message titled "miracle boy satori incoming~" pops up at the top of the list. _Ugh._

To: Ushijima Wakatoshi

From: Tendō Satori

_wakatoshi-kuuuuuun!!! i hope stuff is going well with the panasonic panthers (that’s what the new team is called, right??) btw u were HOT in the spread they did in monthly vball… i had them send me a bigger copy so I could put it on my wall heheh_

_ANYWAYS,,, gonna be in tokyo for 2 weeks starting on the 9th, do u mind if drop in for a few days?? we had so much fun last time. lemme know this week, mmkay??_

_I WUV YOU, WAKKUN! ☆*。★ﾟ*♪ヾ(☆ゝз・)ノ_

_Tendō Satori_

_Third Impact Production Co._

_Tokyo, Japan_

_Is this really how he writes his emails? And here I thought he was supposed to be a professional. Lies, all lies._ Oikawa wrinkles his nose and sniffs before scrolling down a little further.

To: Tendō Satori

From: Ushijima Wakatoshi

_Satori,_

_Thank you for letting me know your plans. Everything is going quite well in Osaka. I’m looking forward to the season starting up again in August. I recently acquired two new plants and expanded the garden on the balcony as much as our lease allows. I think you’ll enjoy the additions._

_I will be in Miyagi visiting family during the first week of your visit. My grandmother is recovering from illness and I told my mother I would assist her with business matters._

_Tōru will still be at the apartment. I advise that you coordinate with him if you are still interested in visiting._

_I love you too._

_Ushijima Wakatoshi_

_Panasonic Panthers – WS, Ace_

_Osaka, Japan_

To: Ushijima Wakatoshi

From: Tendō Satori

_oh nooooo! at least i can see you when you get back, though!! we’ll go to that fancy garden café u like so much_

_the great oikawa-san, huh?? hmm… it’s been a bit since we’ve had ~quality time~ together,, could be fun ಠﭛಠ OHHH I KNOW!! don’t tell him i’m coming!! it’ll be a surprise huehue_

_see you soon!!!! (・ωｰ)～☆_

_Tendō Satori_

_Third Impact Production Co._

_Tokyo, Japan_

Oikawa drops the phone on the table and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. _For fuck’s sake._

_'Oikawa? Are you still there?'_

“No, I died,” Oikawa responds after a moment. “I can’t believe you let him do this to me. You don’t really love me, Waka-baka. I knew it was all a lie. Where do we go from here? Who gets the Roomba?”

Ushijima makes a noise into the phone and Oikawa thinks that the connection is about to die before he realizes that his boyfriend is _laughing_ . It’s a soft noise and it’s over quickly, but Oikawa is blushing like mad. Oikawa wants to be mad at him, he really, truly does, but how _can_ he when he does shit like this?

“It’s not funny!” he pouts. “I’m going to have to entertain him for _days._ Plural. How will I survive?”

 _‘I’m sure you’ll manage,’_ Ushijima says without a hint of remorse. _‘In the meantime, consider the idea that this might be Tendō’s attempt at…bonding? Yes, I believe that’s the correct term.’_

Oikawa sputters - _bonding_? With Tendō Satori?

 _Nasty._ Oikawa doesn’t even want to think about what constitutes “bonding” in Tendō’s head. Maybe he does, just out of curiosity. It also can’t help to prepare for the worst. That’s definitely the reason.

He recalls the picture from earlier, and his neck heats up.

“Lizards don’t have hearts,” he informs Ushijima as he loosens his tie. “Besides, he’s _your_ boyfriend, not mine. Since when is he interested in one-on-one time? It’s a trick – it has to be. I’m not going to fall for it. I remember what happened in college.”

 _‘Right. I need to go now.’_ Ushijima sounds suddenly distracted. Oikawa hears a door slam, voices talking over each other in the background. _‘It was nice hearing your voice, Tōru. Thank you.’_

There it is again, that unexpected softness that always knocks Oikawa flat on his ass. After a six years of rivalry, three as teammates and friends, and three years of dating, he thought he’d be used to it by now, but nope. It’s just as effective as ever.

“Yours too… Oh! Wait, Wakatoshi – quick question.”

_‘Yes. Go ahead.’_

It’s not like they _have_ to discuss it now, but it definitely needs to be addressed. Oikawa takes a deep breath. “Just so we’re on the same page… I’m not saying that it will, but if anything _does_ happen, are you gonna be okay with that?”

Confused, tense silence. Ushijima has no idea what he’s talking about.

Oikawa stares at his phone like it’s a ticking time bomb. How embarrassing, admitting that he’s even thinking about this in the first place! He almost says nevermind, it doesn’t matter , but he knows that’s a bad move. As much as it pains him, he has to be an adult about this.

“Sex, Ushiwaka. _Sex.”_

 _‘Oh.’_ A pause, the distant sound of a car starting. _‘Yes, that’s fine. I’ll call you later. Ganbatte.'_

Oikawa wants to scream but swallows it. “Love you too!” he replies with fake cheer before jabbing at the End Call button.

He rests his forehead on his desk into the storm of loose papers and stays like that until his alarm signals the end of his lunch break.

✾✾✾

Oikawa decides to stop by the corner store after work. Sake, chips, sweets – his coping mechanisms. All things Ushijima would gently chastise him for eating, before sneaking a hand into the bag of chips when Oikawa wasn’t looking. The memory brings a smile to his lips.

It fades when he ascends the flight of stairs towards his apartment and hears the unmistakable womp womp of a subwoofer turned up too high.

Oikawa takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders before opening the front door. _Murder is illegal, murder is illegal, murder is illegal…_

There are at least three half-full water glasses sitting in different places in the living room. The music is unnecessarily loud. The only lights on are the lamps in the corners. All the curtains are pulled back, letting the warm afternoon glow in.

Tendō is sprawled out on the couch with a laptop perched on his chest, one leg hiked up and the other swinging idly, toes brushing the hardwood floor. His bangs are so long now they’re almost covering his eyes. He's focusing intently on the task in front of him, probably writing a script or editing a video. His head bobs to the music. He almost looks… At home.

It’s as Oikawa stands in the entranceway of his and Ushijima’s apartment that it strikes him: this might be one of the only places in the world Tendō _has_ to call home.

Sure, he has a lot of friends in a lot of places. He technically has a studio apartment in Tokyo. In the last year he’s worked his way up, but before that he disappeared for months at a time.

They later found out this was because he was couch surfing and didn’t always have reliable internet access. Oikawa remembers that. He remembers Ushijima’s concern. He hadn’t said anything at the time, but the sheer _relief_ that spread across his face when Tendō finally emailed him told Oikawa everything he needed to know.

Oikawa is very aware of how proud Ushijima is now. It’s obvious in his eyes as he listens to Tendō regale him with details about his latest project. Obvious in the way he sits for as long as Tendō wants to talk, which can be hours, often as Oikawa falls asleep with his head in Ushijima’s lap.

Oikawa’s chest twinges. Okay, so maybe he’s a little proud of him too--

 _Nope._ Oikawa can’t deal with this, not today, possibly not ever. Burning hot all over, he attempts to slip past Tendō undetected.

"Oi!" Tendō shouts and Oikawa almost drops the convenience store bag. Tendō doesn’t look away from his computer screen but turns down the music with a remote. "I heard you come in, y’know. It’s kinda rude to ignore your houseguest. Didn’t your mom teach you basic manners?"

"Hah! That’s rich, coming from you," Oikawa sets his bag down on the coffee table and stands at the end of the couch, determined to keep his eyes on Tendō’s face. The only piece of clothing he has on are his briefs. They sit low. _Too_ low. “At least put some clothes on before you lecture me on manners.”

Tendō taps his chin as if considering it. “Nah, I think I’m good.”

Oikawa bristles like a cat who’s been rubbed the wrong way. Why is his heart beating so fast? “ _You’re_ the genius who sent me a nude while I was at work. How old are we? Fifteen?” he remarks as he balances a hip on the arm of the couch.

"Hey! I had a towel on!" Tendō shoots back. He smirks as he stretches out across the cushions, all long limbs and wiry muscle. Arches his back, shimmies his hips. “Besides, we both know you liked it.”

“Hah! Such an active imagination you have.” Oikawa averts his gaze to sabotage any knee-jerk physical reactions but it’s already too late. He shifts uncomfortably. _Shit._

His skin prickles under Tendō’s stare. It’s as if that perpetually exhausted, half-lidded gaze can see every subtlety and crack in his composure. He hated the “Guess Monster’s” scrutiny during their high school volleyball matches, and he hates it just as much now. Oikawa wishes that the poker face he’s famous for on the volleyball court could hold up just as well in his daily life.

“What’s eatin’ at ya?” Tendō asks, tilting his head to the side as he sets his laptop aside.

"Nothing at all,” Oikawa swipes a hand through his hair. “Other than the fact that I’m exhausted. Some asshole woke me up at 6AM and I’ve been going ever since.”

“Hmm, interesting. Anything else?”

Oikawa purses his lips. "I called Ushijima earlier,” he says. “He showed me the email you sent.”

Tendō leans forward with wide, curious eyes. “Oh yeah? What’d ya think?”

A smug grin tugs at the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. He has Tendō hanging by a thread. It’s nice, having the upper hand again.

He twirls a strand of hair around his finger as he considers. “Well to be honest, I had no idea you were interested.” His eyes glide back to Tendō’s face, cold and unimpressed, tone bordering on condescending. “Why didn’t you just ask, though? It’s not like we’ve never fucked around before. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Something fun?”

Tendō looks away first. A surrender. It's almost as if he's embarrassed or something. There's only one problem with this scenario: Tendō Satori doesn’t _know_ the definition of embarrassed.

Does he?

 _Oh. That’s right._ His interactions with Tendō have always had one thing in common: Ushijima’s presence. Is Tendō suddenly feeling shy now that he doesn’t have his 6’3, 200-pound security blanket? Come to think of it, the text Tendō sent him today was an unusual occurrence - normally they communicated pertinent information through the group chat between the three of them. Everything they had done up until this point, they’d done under Ushijima’s gaze. Kissing, touching, even the one time they fucked - it had been _for_ him, for his enjoyment. Their arousal had derived from their mutual love of Ushijima and desire to please him.

Ah, but this moment is between them.

_Oooooh, scary._

In one movement, Tendō slides over and covers Oikawa’s mouth with his. As Oikawa kisses back – reflex, nothing more, he tells himself – he can taste a hint of his coveted sweet curry on Tendō’s breath.

"Consider this me askin'," Tendō murmurs, and Oikawa can feel the heat of Tendō’s hands sliding up his thighs. _Oh, no._

Oikawa bites his lip to muffle a whimper. He’s been hard off and on throughout the day and his jeans are starting to feel way, _way_ too constricting. When Tendō’s fingers dig into his hips he arches his back a little and accidentally grinds against the arm of the couch. He hisses. “Damn it…”

“Here, hold on - ” Tendō doesn’t waste any time. He moves away from Oikawa’s mouth, smooths the ball of his tongue ring over the little patch of skin under Oikawa’s jaw while his hands work at his belt.

Ahhh, the cold metal always feels incredible. Heat coils in his gut when he thinks about how much better it’s going to feel on his cock -

Oikawa draws back immediately.

“Nah-ah-ah! Not so fast,” he wheezes. With slight reluctance and wobbly legs, he straightens up and buttons his pants. He’s so hard that it actually hurts, but not as much as it would hurt his pride to play right into Tendō’s hand like this. “As entertaining as this is, I need my beauty sleep. I hope you enjoy the couch, Sacchan~”

Oikawa swears he has never seen Tendō look as frustrated as he does right now.

It tastes like victory.

“You’re shittin’ me,” Tendō mutters in disbelief, readjusting his hard-on through his briefs. He flops back onto the couch cushions and laughs – breathlessly, hysterically. “Oh, _man_. I know you’re a tease and all – it’s like, your brand - but this is. This is low, Tōru.”

Oikawa rakes his fingers through his hair in an attempt to regroup before picking up the bag of snacks. He flashes a triumphant grin. Hopes Tendō doesn’t notice his bottom lip still trembling from the kiss. “I promise you I'm capable of much lower, Satori," he sneers. Then, in a much more innocent tone, "Sweet dreams!”

He’s rounding the corner to his bedroom when he hears it. The echo of Tendō’s moan – ragged, loud, his voice breaking halfway through. A moan meant for Oikawa’s ears, meant to go straight to his groin. Meant to draw him back.

 _Fuck._ His vision flashes white - Oikawa pauses for a split second before shutting his door and kicking off his pants as fast as he possibly can, stumbling ass-first onto his bed in the process.

Within seconds Oikawa’s hand and stomach are covered in his own mess. As he’s panting, sitting there wondering how his life got to this point, it slowly dawns on him that this is the first night of several he has to endure until Ushijima comes home. Until Tendō has the person he really wants. _I’m just a distraction for him,_ he reminds himself before his thoughts go any further. _Something to pass the time._

After cleaning himself up, Oikawa sheds the last of his clothes in favor of pajamas and settles in bed. As he breaks open the bag of chips with a pop he tries to ignore the nagging voice in his head: _Yeah, but this time he specifically wanted to see_ me _._

 _How annoying._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be an experiment but...uh... ushioiten ran away with me. i've fallen and i can't get up.  
> i tried something new with this one so it's a little out of my comfort zone but i'm looking forward to seeing what happens!! exploring poly dynamics in writing is something near and dear to my heart so...beware, there are feelings ahead! ~~as well as copious amounts of porn~~  
>  thank you ellie n pia for beta-ing for me, bea for the continuous flow of OT3 headcanons and AJ for enabling the fuck out of me,,,  
> enjoy! ꒰✩’ω`ૢ✩꒱


	2. crying over stolen chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tendō’s eyes flash. A shiver runs down Oikawa’s spine. It occurs to him that he might have struck a nerve, but then the redhead is back to leering again. “Huh. Y’know, Tōru, it’s pretty funny how you revert to “Ushiwaka” when you’re pissy or tired, even after all this time,” Tendō muses, tilting his head to the side. “It’s kinda cute.”
> 
> Oikawa scowls and clenches his fists. “Where do you get off – ”
> 
> “Here!” Tendō shoots back. He pats the cushion beside him and gives Oikawa a wink. “On this very couch. I even made sure you could hear me. Don’t worry though - I cleaned up. I have good manners, remember?”
> 
> Oikawa has another rough morning, enlists the help of Iwa-chan, and Tendou keeps being full of surprises.

Oikawa doesn’t have to go into work until 3 PM the next day, so he sleeps until his internal alarm goes off. He doesn’t look at the clock, but he guesses it’s somewhere around 8 AM. Half-asleep and maybe a little hungover from the peach-flavored sake he’d made a dent in the night before, he shrugs into his robe and stumbles into the dark, cool living room. "Rise and shine," he grumbles to himself as he draws back the curtains the way he’d rip off a band-aid.

Oikawa’s heart leaps into his throat when he hears a faint whimper rise from the depths of the couch.

"H-holy shit."  _ That’s right _ , he thinks as his head starts throbbing.  _ Tendō's here _ .

Tendō is currently wrapped around what appears to be a dakimakura pillow. It takes a moment of letting his eyes adjust for Oikawa to realize it’s  _ the  _ dakimakura - a relic from their college days, the same one Tendō used to always leave in Ushijima’s dorm after staying over. The now-faded outline of Rei from  _ Neon Genesis Evangelion  _ peeks out from under Tendō’s arm.

Under any normal circumstances Oikawa would have laughed his ass off - a 24-year-old man cuddling a hentai pillow he's had since he was a teenager  _ is  _ pretty ridiculous - but something stops him. His eyes are blown wide and his heart – still in his throat – hammers erratically.

Maybe it’s because in all the years Oikawa has known him, he’s never seen Tendō like… this. The way he’s clutching the pillow for dear life and burying his face in it makes him look unusually vulnerable.

He swallows thickly.

Usually when Tendō stays with them, he forces himself between Oikawa and Ushijima and sprawls out over their entire bed. There’s an awkward mess of elbows and knees and spiky red hair tickling Oikawa's nose as Tendō would gradually push Oikawa towards the edge of the bed, and kick him in the shin as he snuggles into Ushijima's chest. Even worse is when he tries to cuddle with Oikawa, dragging him closer with his spider limbs until Oikawa’s back is pressed up against Tendō’s bony chest.

Back in college, Oikawa would get upset over this sort of thing. His personal space was getting invaded by this jerk who also happened to be dating his boyfriend, but that hasn’t actually been the case for a long time now. Over the years Tendō has become, for better or worse, a constant in Oikawa’s life despite being absent for months at a time. An annoying  presence-- one that Oikawa never asked for in the first place, one that he could barely tolerate sometimes, but a constant nonetheless.

There’s comfort in constants.

Tendō growls in his sleep as the sun streams into the room. He draws his knees up to his chest and the blanket slips off him onto the floor, revealing the entirety of his tattoo. A beehive pattern starts narrow at his hip and fans out along the curve of his leg. The lines are so perfect that Oikawa honestly can’t help but admire the artistry. This is the first time he’s been able to look at it without Tendō teasing him for staring. And – wow, the way it contrasts with Tendō’s pale, freckled skin?

It’s…actually really beautiful.

_ So pretty, Sacchan,  _ Oikawa thinks and nearly bites a hole in his lip when he realizes he’s said it out loud.  _ Get a grip.  _ He leans over the back of the couch and after hesitating a few times, ever-so-slowly skims his fingertips along the hard line of Tendō's thigh, all the way up to his jutting hip.

Tendō's muscles are sinewy, not as prominent as they were in high school, but still strong. They tense beneath his touch. Oikawa grins as he traces a circle on Tendō's hip with his thumb, presses in at the hollow spot there. Oikawa’s always loved that spot, because when he bites it Tendō goes completely, blissfully silent.

Tendō shivers, burying his face deeper into the pillow and rolling his hips lazily into the palm of Oikawa's hand. His whimpers light Oikawa's ears on fire, and makes him dig crescents into Tendō’s skin.  _ "Wakkun,”  _ Oikawa hears him mutter.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck,_ ** _fuck_** _._ _Abort, abort!_ Oikawa snatches his hand away and scrambles up, pulls his robe tighter as if covering up will make him feel any less mortified. He rakes his hands through his hair as he pads into the kitchen, and tries to resist the urge to pace around.

Along with the awful, gut-wrenching feeling that he’s just witnessed something extremely private that wasn’t for his eyes or his ears, Oikawa’s body starts to wake up in ways he’s not at all mentally prepared for. His head pounds even harder as his brain struggles to catch up to what just happened.

_ Coffee _ , he decides.  _ I’ll make coffee. _

He’s preparing his french press with shaky hands when he sees a chocolate wrapper sitting on the otherwise clean countertop. Not just any chocolate wrapper.

“Son of a  _ bitch  _ ,” he hisses. Tendō stealing his candy isn’t anything new, so it’s not exactly worth him getting angry over, but Oikawa is currently emotionally compromised. He’s still in disbelief over what he just did, what he was  _ thinking  _ about doing –

It’s too much to make sense of right now and he needs to move, _ do  _ something, anything to jolt him from where this train of thought is going.

Oikawa strides over to the couch and rips the blanket off Tendō.

“Hmm? Well g’mornin’ to you too,” Tendō yawns, completely oblivious to Oikawa’s fury. He arches his back and stretches over the arm of the couch before snapping up into a sitting position. “Sleep well?” he asks as he ties up his hair back.

“ _ No!”  _ Oikawa all but shouts as he waves the candy wrapper in front of Tendō’s face. “And what the hell is this? I let you into  _ my  _ home, give you food and shelter, and this is how you repay me?”

“Huh? What’re you even – ” Tendō picks the wrapper out of his lap and inspects it. “Oh. Was that yours?”

“Of course it was! Who _ else  _ -” Oikawa stops and takes a deep breath through his nose to compose himself. “Who  _ else  _ would hide their food in the deepest depths of the pantry, away from prying eyes? Ushiwaka doesn’t even _ like  _ chocolate, I thought you of all people would know th – ”

“Whoa! Slow down there,  _ Oikawa-san  _ ,” Tendō objects as he picks a t-shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. Oikawa’s eye twitches at the condescending nickname. “That just ain’t true. He just likes the super sweet stuff, like cheap white chocolate with cookie pieces in it. Anyways, was yours expensive or somethin’? I’ll buy ya more, just tell me what – ”

“You idiot, it’s – ” Oikawa rubs his temples. It’s  _ way  _ too fucking early for this, any of this. He feels like he is about to come out of his skin. “It’s the  _ principle  _ of the thing. We’ve talked about this. You can eat Ushiwaka’s food to your little heart’s desire - he even keeps some  _ just for you -  _ but mine is off limits, dammit.” Oikawa sighs through his nose before continuing. “Honestly, why do you  _ insist  _ on pissing me off at every turn? I thought this whole thing,” he gestures between them, “was supposed to be your attempt at a peace offering. Here’s a tip: you’re already fucking it up royally. Are you even  _ trying  _ ?”

Tendō’s eyes flash. A shiver runs down Oikawa’s spine. It occurs to him that he might have struck a nerve, but then the redhead is back to leering again. “Huh. Y’know, Tōru, it’s pretty funny how you revert to “Ushiwaka” when you’re pissy or tired, even after all this time,” Tendō muses, tilting his head to the side. “It’s kinda cute.”

Oikawa scowls and clenches his fists. “Where do you get off – ”

“Here!” Tendō shoots back. He pats the cushion beside him and gives Oikawa a wink. “On this very couch. I even made sure you could hear me. Don’t worry though - I cleaned up. I have good manners, remember?”

Oikawa buries his face in his hands and groans. His heart hurts, his head hurts, he’s exhausted, and now Tendō is trying to pick a fight with him? A muscle in his jaw spasms and he realizes he’s been clenching his teeth this whole time.

“You really are the worst kind of person,” he mutters as he massages his cheek. “It’s a shame you have to open your mouth, Sacchan, you’d actually be kind of hot if you shut it every now and then.”

“Oi! That’s uncalled for,” Tendō objects as he moves to get up off the couch. “Also wholly untrue. Wakkun informs me I have a “very nice” mouth and I’m preeeeetty sure I’ve never heard you complain when I – ”

“4000 yen,” Oikawa interrupts. If this keeps going, he’s going to lose his shit and he hasn’t even had his morning coffee yet. “And I’ll let this go.”

Tendō rises from the couch and stretches his arms over his head, cracks his neck as he twists it from side to side. “I have an even  _ better  _ idea,” he counters, and Oikawa’s stomach flips. “Let’s go out. It’ll be more expensive than your fancy chocolate was, dependin' on where we go. I feel like that’s a fair bargain.”

Oikawa scoffs. "Excuse me? How is that  _ a fair bargain  _ ? I’d have to spend a whole evening with  _ you  _ .”

"Come on, Tōru-kun. We can go aaaaanywhere you want,” Tendō sing-songs as he throws a lanky arm around Oikawa’s shoulder. "Anywhere at all.” He leans in and nips at Oikawa’s earlobe. “It’ll be an  _ adventure  _ .”

“Tch.” Oikawa shivers and there’s a small part of him that wants Tendō to continue pressing kisses down his neck, but  _ not right now  _ . He shrugs Tendō off and narrows his eyes as he quickly considers the offer, runs through scenarios in his head. How far could he go with it, how could he make sure this bites Tendō in the ass? His head starts to pound again.

“Fine,” he grumbles as he heads back to his bedroom to take a shower. “I’ll think about it.”

✾✾✾

Oikawa firmly believes everyone needs an “Iwa-chan” for when life gives them a shit sandwich. Someone to tell them everything isn’t as bad as it seems, that it’ll all turn out okay. Oikawa needs to hear this more than ever as he mourns his stolen chocolate. Chocolate he’d had to drive to another prefecture to acquire because it was discontinued earlier in the year.

The coffee he’d made in a rush has grounds in it. In his morning gym class, he pries apart two boys fighting over a video game. Or something. Maybe it was an anime. Tendō would probably be able to tell the difference.

Oikawa sits at his tiny, cluttered desk and weighs the odds that Iwaizumi will respond to his Skype call. Probably 2/10, if only because of the following reasons:

1) Iwaizumi Hajime sucks at using Skype

2) He lives two hours away, in a rural area with bad reception

3) He’s usually busy babysitting or coaching or volunteering

4) He plays on not one but  _ two  _ volleyball teams, a pro league and an alumni league

5) Iwaizumi  _ fucking sucks  _ at Skype.

It’s not that he’s technologically inept. In their friendship  _ Oikawa  _ is the one who goes through phones like most people go through paper towels.

Luckily, Iwaizumi picks up on the second ring. His ruggedly handsome face pops up on Oikawa’s screen and the sound of a dog barking wafts from Oikawa's shitty laptop speakers.

Oikawa is eating lunch at his desk again. He technically shares an office with the other coach, but the older man is hardly ever around. When he is it’s because he needs to talk to Oikawa about something important, or write up permission slips for away games.

“I can’t go home tonight, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa complains as he mixes some wasabi in with his soy sauce. “Nothing good awaits me there."

"Just kick him out if it's that bad."

Oikawa pops a piece of store-bought sushi into his mouth, ignoring Iwaizumi's suggestion. "It’s the  _ principle  _ of the thing. He really hasn’t changed one bit. He’s the same person he was in uni only with a bit more money and better hair. It’s all the same Mickey Mouse bullsh - ”

"Cut the crap, Oikawa."

Iwaizumi glares, hard. "If this is just going to be another hour of dragging Tendō through the dirt, I'm hanging up right now. I have better things to do than hear you rehash the same shit.”

Oikawa pouts.  _ Well, that didn’t last long.  _ "Iwa-chaaaan, I called because I need your advice."

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and nods after a moment. "Okay. Spit it out, then."

Oikawa steeples his fingers under his chin. His tone turns serious. "Satori is acting really strange," he says slowly. "He  _ kissed  _ me."

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows, but then shrugs. "So? It’s not like that’s anything new.”

"Wrong." Oikawa fiddles with a pen on his desk as he mulls over the events of the night before and this morning. He glances at his phone. No unread text messages, no dirty selfies. He almost wishes there would be _ something  _ . "What happened this time was..." Oikawa grimaces. "A different thing."

"How?” Iwaizumi slurps down some of his ramen. His eyes narrow as he studies Oikawa. "Hold on a second. All this time, you guys never...?”

"Nope. Not without Wakatoshi in the room or right next door." He scratches his jaw as he goes over all the times he and Tendō  _ have  _ kissed. It comes out to three in the last… five years? Kissing is intimate, and that’s never been something he's associated with Tendō.

At least, not directly. Not until now.

"It...never really came up," he says after a moment.

"Right." Iwaizumi scratches his head in frustration. "I guess I’d hoped you guys made up after all that mess."

Oikawa's heart sinks into his stomach. He shifts in his chair. "I’m not sure what you mean.”

"You know  _ exactly  _ what I mean, Shittykawa." Iwaizumi turns his ramen bowl up and finishes off the last of the broth. “Please tell me you guys didn’t just bury that under the rug and never spoke of it again.”

A long, stagnant pause crackles between them. "We're over it," Oikawa sniffs.

Iwaizumi leans closer to the screen, thick eyebrows drawn together. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What would I even say to him?” Oikawa objects. “It’s not like I’ve changed my mind. I’d just be reopening old wounds.”

“Dumbass. It’s not reopening old wounds if you never closed 'em up in the first place. You never gave him a reason, did you?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. Talk about being cornered. “Come on, Iwa-chan. Do you honestly think he expected me to say yes? I have  _ standards  _ ." He twirls around in his chair. "Anyways, that was years ago. He's probably forgotten all about it by now."

_ Hopefully. _

Iwaizumi sighs. “Sometimes you can be a real jackass."

They've been friends for almost two decades and Oikawa still can't handle disappointing Iwaizumi. He swallows the unpleasant taste in his mouth. "I'm well aware," Oikawa agrees with a wry smile. "But I still don't think I'm in the wrong."

Iwaizumi shrugs.

Oikawa has disassembled and reassembled the same pen three times in the last ten minutes. He sets it aside, fingers stained with blue ink. "Dating Satori would be a terrible idea," Oikawa says with more confidence than he feels. “Besides, the arrangement we have with Waka-chan has worked well so far. Why put it at risk?”

"That's a shitty way of looking at it," Iwaizumi grumbles. "Maybe it's worked for you, but how do you know it's worked for Tendō?"

Oikawa stiffens. Admittedly, he hasn’t considered Tendō's feelings at all - he’s purposefully tried to remain ignorant of those. He'd always assumed that Ushijima would handle that side of things.

Thinking about it, this probably isn't the best course of action. While Ushijima does a decent job of communicating with both his partners, he isn't the most emotionally intuitive person and won't pick up on something unless it’s plainly stated. "I'm sure he'd mention it to Waka-chan if something wasn't working for him. That's not my department."

Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa for a long moment before sliding out of his chair. "I gotta go to practice, but I hope you figure your shit out." He shrugs on his yellow and green track jacket. "Tendō's actually a pretty cool dude, believe it or not. You oughta give him a chance."

_ "A pretty cool dude,"  _ Oikawa repeats with narrowed eyes. "Sounds fake, but okay."

"Whatever," Iwaizumi says. "Do what you want."

"Thanks a lot, Iwa-chan," Oikawa mumbles as Iwaizumi's screen cuts to black. He closes his laptop and rests his forehead on it.

_ I have this under control. Just you wait, Iwa-chan. _

✾✾✾

Oikawa does not, in fact, have it under control.

If he had it - whatever it was - under control, he would have remembered to check his phone when he got back to work, and wouldn’t have been shocked to see Tendō waiting for him when he finished up with practice.

The redhead is leaning against one of the trees outside the gym, dressed in an old orange Naruto shirt and black skinny jeans. His hair is down today, a headband keeping his bangs away from his eyes - which, oddly enough, aren't outlined in black eyeliner. Oikawa immediately recognizes the shirt as one Tendō once wore for an entire week during their senior year at college. Oikawa remembers "accidentally" spilling a cold cup of coffee on him and feeling triumphant when Tendō finally took off the shirt to wash it.

Oikawa's fingers tighten around the strap of his duffle bag as he watches Tendō play with some dumb music rhythm game on his phone. His tongue is peeking out the side of his mouth as he concentrates, intent on beating his previous high score.

_ It's my lucky day.  _ With a wicked grin, Oikawa spins his volleyball a few times before tossing it into the air and  _ lightly  _ spiking it in Tendō's general direction. "Heads up, Sacchan!" he calls sweetly.

Tendō - acting purely on instinct - immediately drops his phone and catches the ball. He looks up, sees Oikawa doubled over laughing, and scowls.

"Hey, jackass! What gives?" Tendō shouts as he inspects his phone for damage. “If you're gonna attack me, at least make sure my phone isn't a casualty. I kinda need it to, y'know… live." He crosses his arms over his narrow chest. "Besides, a hello would've been nice. After all, I've come all this way- "

"Oh, please." Oikawa rolls his eyes as he takes the volleyball back and stuffs it into his duffle bag before zipping it up. "Why are you here, anyway?" His head is pounding, probably because of the bad-quality sushi he'd had at lunch and the fact that he's spent half the practice mulling over his conversation with Iwaizumi.

"I got bored," Tendō drags his tongue over his upper lip. The ball of metal flashes in the afternoon sunlight and Oikawa forces himself to look somewhere, anywhere  _ other  _ than Tendō's mouth. "And I was cravin' takoyaki. Can we go to the usual place? It's close by, isn't it?"

Oikawa sighs heavily and rubs the back of his hand across his forehead. "I've had a long day, alright? I was hoping I'd get a little more time to myself before I had to deal with you. Can't you entertain yourself tonight?"

Tendō blinks at him with those unnervingly large eyes of his as if he's surprised by this response. Without the makeup, his expression looks raw, almost honest. "But I wanted to go with you."

_ What the fuck is this?  _ Oikawa waits a heartbeat, two heartbeats, for a punchline, for Tendō to follow up that strange remark with something vulgar. Nothing comes. They stand there in silence, staring at each other, before Tendō is distracted by something behind Oikawa.

Oikawa lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Hey, there!" Tendō gives a small wave. Oikawa turns around to find two of the third-year girls on his team standing just outside the gym entrance, trying their best to look inconspicuous. One of them - the promising wing-spiker, Hamada - is shifting from foot to foot as she hides behind her friend.

"Hamada-chan, Roka-chan! I thought you'd left. Is something wrong?" Oikawa asks in the soft, encouraging voice he reserves for the children he's coaching. "You're going to miss your bus if you don't catch up with the…”

"Go on, Yuki! Ganbatte!" Oikawa hears Roka whisper before pushing Hamada towards where they're standing. Hamada stumbles a little before pulling out her pencil case from behind her back. She unzips it with her small, trembling hands and grabs a silver marker.

“...Others.”

"A-Are you Tendō Satori?"

"The one and only!" Tendō replies, moving to stand in front of Oikawa. He leans down a little so he can meet Hamada's gaze directly. "What can I do for ya?"

"I-I was wondering if - " She squeezes her eyes shut and holds out the marker. "Ifyoucouldsignmybag! I...I really loved your work on the latest  _ Trigger  _ production."

Tendō at least has the grace to look surprised for a moment before breaking into one of the biggest smiles Oikawa has ever seen. It's not a leer, it's not a smirk, he's actually  _ beaming  _ and Oikawa wants to forget he ever saw it because in that moment Tendō looks  _ handsome  _ . Tendō hums, plucks the marker from Hamada's grasp. He's practically dancing in place and it's...

_ No  _ , Oikawa tells himself firmly.  _ No it's not. It's not cute. He's probably faking it. Like a chameleon. There's no way he acts like this every time a fan comes up to him. How would he get anything done? _

"Really? Ya think so?" Tendō makes an awed noise, eyes sparkling. "You're makin' me blush, Hamada-chan! What was your favorite part?"

"W-Well, you know how..."

✾✾✾

Half an hour later, the sun is setting and Tendō is following a very annoyed Oikawa to their usual takoyaki destination.

Only because takoyaki actually sounds good to Oikawa right about now, too. After surviving today he feels like he needs to indulge himself.

“ _ Oikaaaawa  _ -sensei,” Tendō croons in Oikawa’s ear. When he sees Oikawa flinch, he throws his head back and cackles. “Oh,  _ man _ . Hamada-chan was intense! I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl  _ that  _ into mecha anime. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much when I told her I’ve known the great Oikawa Tōru since high school. And that I used to block him all. The. Time.”

Oikawa shoots Tendō a look meant to kill.

Tendō shivers in excitement. “Oooooh, did I strike a nerve? That was a long time ago, Tōru-kun! Holding grudges is bad for your health.”

_ I’ll show you something that’s bad for your health.  _ Oikawa takes a deep, sobering breath. His lips curve into a smile so cool he hopes it freezes Tendō’s vital organs. “The past is the past, Sacchan. I’d be foolish to dwell on our silly high school rivalry when  _ I’m  _ the one who made it to the Olympics.”

“Yeah - with  _ my  _ ace at your side,” Tendō interjects with a grin. “Y’know, you’re lucky Wakkun is such a patient guy. I don’t know how he puts up with you. He thinks you’ve gotten better over the years, but I don’t see it. You’ve only gotten worse since getting an Official Fan Club.”

Oikawa brushes his bangs out of his eyes and rises to his full height, which is still an inch shorter than Tendō. “There are only a few hundred members last I checked. And I like to think that Waka-chan has learned to love that about me, just like I’ve learned to love his tactless charm. It’s all about compromise.”

Tendō snorts. “Yeah, okay. Whatever helps ya sleep at night... Wait, what was it that #10 from Karasuno called you? The Grand King _ .  _ ”

Oikawa stops in his tracks and scoffs. “You know, every time Shrimpy-chan called me that I thought it was cute. But hearing you say it makes me want to vomit all over the sidewalk.”

Tendō pouts before looping one of his long arms around Oikawa’s neck, dragging him along. “But Toooooru! But we haven’t even eaten yet.”

“Oh my god - get off me, Satori,” Oikawa snarls as he feels Tendō’s fingers in his hair, ruffling it. “If we don’t hurry up the only thing open is gonna be McDonald’s. And don’t think this makes up for this morning - I’m going to make you really pay for that.”

✾✾✾

They head back to Oikawa and Ushijima’s apartment at a snail’s pace, full of takoyaki and - in Oikawa’s case - a fair amount of taro milk tea. It’s dark outside, with the street lanterns the only light along their path. Even though spring is bleeding into summer, the air is chilly. Oikawa zips up his Olympic track jacket.

“Hhhhh, I’m so full,” Tendō whimpers, rubbing his stomach. “This always happens when I visit you guys. Why didn’t ya cut me off?”

“What? That’s not my job. Besides, anyone with a lick of common sense knows it’s a bad idea to eat three servings of takoyaki. Take responsibility.”

Tendō stares at Oikawa in disbelief, his mouth hanging open. “Tōru, they had three. Different.  _ Kinds  _ . What was I supposed to do?”

Oikawa shrugs. “I don’t know, choose one like a normal person?”

“Pffft. We only live once. Why limit myself?”

As they ascend the stairs to the third floor of the apartment building, Oikawa can  _ feel  _ Tendō’s eyes on his ass. When he glances over his shoulder, sure enough, Tendō is leering at him with his eyebrows raised. “Ugh,” Oikawa mutters. “Do you mind?”

“Hey, listen... I’m just admiring the view. If you didn’t want me to look, you wouldn’t be wearing compression briefs. Am I wrong? Please tell me I’m wrong.”

“I really, really hate you.” Oikawa is so,  _ so  _ tempted to kick Tendō, run up the stairs and lock the door behind him, but he’s just too tired.  _ Besides  _ , Oikawa thinks with a sigh,  _ he’s a lizard, he’d find a way to climb in through the window. Not that that makes sense, but since when does anything Tendō does make sense? _

When Oikawa unlocks his apartment door and turns on the light he’s mildly shocked at what he finds.

“You...cleaned?” Oikawa asks, noting how all of the dishes are done and the couch is made up, the spare blankets sitting in a neat pile on top of the cushions. The dakimakura pillow lounges against the back the couch and images from this morning flood back: how peaceful Tendō looked, how his -

Oikawa clenches his fist as he hears the door click closed.  _ The bastard managed to be cute for all of a minute before I found out he’d raided my chocolate stash. Figures. _

“Well yeah,” Tendō replies with a noncommittal shrug. “As much as I love to annoy you, I don’t want Wakkun to come home to a trashed-out apartment. You do a good job of that on your own.” He pulls off his black, ratty Converse and slips them onto the shoe rack, next to a pair of Ushijima’s athletic sneakers. “Oh, I filled up the pitcher in the fridge, too.”

Oikawa had opened his mouth to retort to the comment implying he’s a slob - which isn’t untrue, who does Tendō think he is? - but now he’s opening the fridge and grabbing the water pitcher.

“Thanks,” he mutters as he fills up his water bottle. He hears Tendō humming somewhere behind him, and knows that he’s watching him.

Tendō has been watching him all evening.

“I’m going to bed,” Oikawa announces as he shuts the fridge door. “Have a good night, Satori. Keep out of the pantry and don’t turn the TV up too loud.”

Oikawa pointedly avoids Tendō’s gaze as he passes him in the doorway of the kitchen, not about to fall into  _ that  _ trap, when he feels long, slender fingers curl around his arm.

Oikawa opens his mouth to object but something stops him. The touch isn’t demanding, or rude, or any of the things Oikawa normally associates with Tendō. It’s tentative, inviting and Tendō’s caressing the skin of Oikawa’s inner wrist.

“I’m tired, Sacchan,” Oikawa mutters, keeping his eyes downcast. His heart is hammering against his ribs and his ears feel like they’re on fire.

Tendō moves a little closer and his thumb is now caressing the heel of Oikawa’s palm. “Wanna hang out? Just for a bit?” He laughs a little and Oikawa feels Tendō’s breath hot on his neck. “Come on, it’s barely 8 o’clock. I know for a _ fact  _ you ain’t goin’ to bed for at least another three hours.”

“Satori…” Oikawa swallows the dryness creeping up his throat.  _ Fuck.  _ “Did you not hear me? I just said - ”

“You’re tired, I know. I don’t care if you pass out on me.” He lets go of Oikawa’s wrist and sticks his hands in his own back pockets as if he isn’t sure what to do with them. “I was probably gonna turn on Netflix. Any recs?”

Oikawa looks at the TV, then up at Tendō in disbelief. He feels some of the tension in his body crumble as he holds back a laugh. “Hah! Since when do you watch anything  _ I  _ recommend? Remember last time? We argued for half an hour before Wakatoshi stole the remote and put on a nature documentary.”

“Ahhhh, sweet memories,” he says. He peers down at Oikawa through half-lidded eyes as he considers a strategy. “I’ll watch the X-Files with you.”

Oikawa can’t believe he’s actually entertaining this idea but:

1) The more he thinks about it, the less appealing sitting in bed drinking and eating snacks alone sounds, and--

2) Tendō might be a royal pain in his ass, but the way he’s acting is leagues removed from their previous encounters. This is the second time in a day he’s relented to Oikawa’s whims and honestly, it’s something Oikawa could get used to. Even if it  _ is  _ incredibly suspicious and probably just a ruse to get into his pants.

He isn’t as upset about the last part as he probably should be.

“Fine,” he finally says. “But only if you promise not to criticize it the whole time.”

Tendō holds his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “When have I ever - “

“Go change out of that awful shirt while I figure out what I’m in the mood for. I’m sick of looking at it.”

✾✾✾

Oikawa passes out halfway through the two-parter with his feet in Tendō’s lap and his hands folded across his chest.

His mind swirls awake sometime later at the sound of Tendō’s laugh - loud and raucous before it suddenly becomes muffled. He blinks an eye open and sees the show paused in the middle of the credits, and instead of laying on his back, now he’s laying on his side with a blanket tucked around him.

Tendō’s dakimakura pillow is soft under his cheek. It smells like him - tart and slightly sweet, like citrus.

Oikawa snuggles in closer.

“...and then I made him go with me for my yearly takoyaki binge,” Tendō was saying. “But I don’t think he minded that part too much.”

Oikawa hears a deep, rumbly voice resonating from the other end of what he realizes is a phone call.  _ Oh, he’s talking to Wakatoshi. _

If Oikawa weren’t so damned exhausted he would sit up and steal the phone, but he can barely keep his eyes open as it is. He’s nearly falling back asleep when he hears Tendō say something else.

“I want that too,” Tendō murmurs, and Oikawa’s heart thuds at the serious, almost sad note in his voice, but it’s gone in an instant. “But Tōru is the only other person in the world I’ve met who’s more stubborn than you, Wakkun.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I have to make him believe it’s his idea.”

Oikawa scrunches his nose and strikes his foot out, satisfied when he hears Tendō grunt in pain.

“So anyways…” Tendō mumbles, “How’s it goin’ back home in Miyagi? Have ya paid a visit to our old stompin’ grounds yet?”

He drifts back to sleep without much trouble, their voices distorted and far away.

✾✾✾   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS Y'ALL! hhhhh thanks to everyone to commented/bookmarked/subscribed, your support means SO MUCH to me (˶◕‿◕˶✿) hopefully the next part won't take so long to upload haha  
> thank you maëlle and ellie for the beta, the usual twitter suspects for enabling me and errow for drawing amazing, incredible artwork that inspired me to write this fic all over again >> [HERE](http://gutspace.tumblr.com/post/154188326269/welcome-to-fucking-ushioiten-hell%0A)  
>  **FYI next chapter is gonna be straight up smut so TREAD CAREFULLY INTO THE GOOD NIGHT**  
>  yell @ me on twitter about these three [here](twitter.com/candy_harlot)


	3. volatile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa wakes up in the middle of the night to find himself in a rather...precarious position.

The upbeat vocals of a _Love Live_ song are what wake Oikawa up some time later. Disoriented, he stretches his arms and _attempts_ to stretch his legs but there's one problem: someone – _Tendō_ \- is leaning against him, tilting the dimmed screen this way and that as he tries to match the rhythm, those bony shoulders digging into Oikawa’s thigh.

Shit. This has to be some kind of fucked-up dream, because he can’t _actually_ be cuddling with Tendō Satori right now. Just to be sure, Oikawa reaches out and touches the thick red hair spilling out across the blanket. It ensnares his fingers; thick and slightly tangled but soft, so _soft..._

Tendō makes a faint, contented noise and Oikawa freezes. Nope. This is real, all right. Very real. But before Oikawa can pretend that he’s still asleep, that this never happened, Tendō tilts his head back, thin lips parted in a small ‘ _o_.’

Oikawa rubs his eyelid with his free hand and blinks a few times. “How long was I out?”

Tendō’s mouth morphs into a slight grin. In one lithe movement, he twists onto his stomach and perches his elbows on Oikawa, resting his chin in his hands. “I dunno,” he sing-songs. “A couple hours, maybe? You were _snoring_ , Tōru-kun. It was kinda cute.”

"Tch. I _said_ I was tired, didn't I?" Oikawa yawns indignantly. Once his vision finally adjusts, he notes that Tendō is wearing one of Ushijima's old t-shirts: a gray one, with holes and sweat stains - one that Oikawa _specifically_ remembers telling Ushijima to throw out along with several others that had somehow made it through college. The shirt, which was loose on Ushijima to begin with, practically swallows Tendō; the threadbare neckline exposes his collarbone and the sleeves come down to his pointy elbows.

Oikawa’s tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth and while he _wishes_ he could say it’s from sleeping with his mouth open again, it’s not – it’s because Tendō’s hot pink briefs are slowly riding up between his ass cheeks.

Oikawa forces his gaze back to Tendō’s face, cheeks burning. “Was I dreaming or were you on the phone with Waka-chan earlier?”

“We chatted for a lil bit before he hit the sack. I think he just wanted to make sure things were hunky dory here at home,” Tendō replies with a yawn of his own, not bothering to cover his mouth. He tilts his head at Oikawa. “Sounded like he might’ve been worried or somethin’. Everything ok between you two?”

Oikawa’s fingers clench involuntarily and he's reminded that he still has one hand in Tendō's hair. He’s keenly aware of his nails raking along Tendō's scalp – his heart, leaping into his windpipe as Tendō’s head falls back and his eyes flutter shut.

 _Oh my, Sacchan… Fascinated,_ Oikawa combs his fingers through the cherry red strands, marveling at how buoyant it is and – more importantly – the way Tendō’s face relaxes. He looks so _different_ like this. Permanent smirk gone, eyes droopy. It’s a good look.

 _Too_ good.

“As far as I know.” Oikawa licks his dry, chapped lips, embers of heat settling deep in his stomach. “What did you say to him?”

Tendō cracks open one eye and chuckles - albeit a little breathlessly. "Uh, well let’s see… He was happy t’hear I wasn't in the ICU with a knife wound to the - _ahhh,_ " Tendō bites his lip as Oikawa fists a hand in his hair and _tugs_ , far enough so that he can see the bob of Tendō’s Adam's apple.

“So soft, Sacchan," Oikawa teases, his grip tightening just enough to elicit a sharp gasp before he finally lets go. “Pathetic. I’d forgotten how easy it is to just - _hey!"_

The next thing Oikawa knows, Tendō’s on top of him, throwing off the blanket and shoving Oikawa’s thighs apart so that he can settle between them. Oikawa chokes on a whimper as Tendō presses against him, lining their hips up just _so_. Fuck. Has he been hard this whole damned time?

“Funny, _I’d_ forgotten just how _easy_ it is to get ya on your back,” Tendō retorts, sliding his hand up one of Oikawa’s bare legs, slow, from ankle to knee. “All talk, no bite.”

“You’re so _rude_ .” Oikawa turns his head to the side, squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to pull Tendō down to his level – grind against him. He’s right _there_ , close enough for Oikawa to feel the heat radiating off of him, smell his sweat. All he would have to do is just –

Oikawa jerks when he feels a thumb swipe across his bottom lip, tugging it free from where it was caught between his teeth. The gesture feels decidedly… _intimate_ and he’s torn between biting Tendō's fingers off and sucking on them.

"Hey, tell me somethin'," Tendō murmurs as he hooks a piece of hair behind Oikawa’s ear. "What're you so afraid of? I mean, don’t get me wrong – I know you’re pissed 'cause I didn't let ya know I was comin' into town, but - "

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Oikawa snaps, a little too quickly. His face is so _hot_ , and he wishes Tendō would stop touching it because it’s not. _Helping. “_ I’m not… I’m not _afraid_.”

It’s a struggle to piece together the events of the past few days, and not only because Tendō is staring at him unblinkingly, as if trying to catch every thought that flits across his face. Oikawa inhales deeply.

"Listen, you can't just… expect me to pick up where we left off. It’s been _months._ We had fun, but then you left. Life goes on.” _As always._ “I only agreed last time because Wakatoshi was there and I was drunk enough to find you somewhat - "

"You’re lyin’." Tendō’s gaze narrows. "You and I both know that this? You n’ me?” He leans in a little closer, his hair tickling Oikawa's face. “It's been goin' on a lot longer than these last couple o’ days. Hell, it’s been goin’ on since before you and Wakatoshi ever started _dating._ "

Oikawa’s blood run hot and cold. Sweat beads on the back of his neck. “Fuck off, Satori,” he snarls. “So what if we've fooled around a little over the last few years?" He raises his chin slightly so he can meet Tendō’s gaze. "Just be honest - the only reason you're even interested in me is because of _him_ . You’re only _here_ because you want to look good in front of your precious _Wakkun._ ”

Tendō’s eyes flash. _Jackpot._ “That’s a load of bullsh—”

“Besides,” Oikawa continues, egged on by Tendō’s palpable anger. “Why would I date someone who just – drops in whenever the hell they feel like it, or leaves without even saying goodbye? Why would I make time for someone who doesn’t even bother asking me what _I_ want in all this?”

 _Oh, shit._ Oikawa wants to sink deep, deep into the couch cushions when he hears the raw hurt echoing in his voice. His heart is hammering against his ribcage so hard that it’s painful and everything’s heating up the longer Tendō stares -

After what feels like an eternity, Tendō finally settles back on his heels with a haughty, entirely-too-amused look on his face. "Who said anything about _datin’_?"

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Oikawa tries to wiggle out from under Tendō, but Tendō’s grip is firm on his hips. "Ha ha, w-well that's not what I meant, I-"

A triumphant grin splits across Tendō’s face. "Ooooh no ya don’t,” he croons. “C’mere." He shoves his hands under Oikawa’s ass and drags him closer, leaning over him and tilting his hips just enough to draw a gasp out of Oikawa. "Is the Grand King's famous silver tongue is failing him now? I’m _dyin’_ of suspense."

Oikawa thought his face was hot before but now it’s _burning_ . He clenches his thighs around Tendō's hips so maybe he'll stop grinding against him and making this more humiliating than it already is – but Oikawa is _shaking_ and Tendō is a persistent bastard. "Shut up," he mumbles.

Tendō presses in closer. "But _Tōru_! How can I shut up when you’re bein’ so – " The rest of this sentence is cut short as Oikawa claps a hand over his mouth.

“Just! For once, could you just - _ugh_!” Oikawa makes a disgusted noise when he feels the pad of Tendō’s studded tongue against his palm and snatches his hand away, but not before wiping the spit off on Tendō’s shoulder.

“Listen up, because I’m only going to ask this _once_ ,” Oikawa snaps. “Do you want to do this or not?”

At first Oikawa thinks he’s imagining, but no – Tendō’s eyes _twinkle._ “Fuck _yeah_ I do.”

Oikawa scoffs as he pulls Ushijima's old t-shirt over Tendō’s head and -

Freezes. A gust of Ushijima’s scent - faded, but still very much _his_ \- hits Oikawa and would've knocked him flat on his ass if he were standing up. His head is spinning, he’s quickly giving in as Tendō kisses him hungrily, forging deeper into his mouth with each swipe. His fervor is intoxicating - Oikawa tries to meet it, grabbing Tendō’s face and kissing him back hard enough to bruise.

 _Wakatoshi, did you know this would happen when you said yes?_ As Tendō rolls his hips, holds him close, Oikawa spreads his hands along his chest, his collarbone, his narrow, wiry shoulders. Memorizing. Everything about this feels new, novel and yet familiar. Oikawa’s touch is tentative, cautious as he smooths his hands down and flicks the studded nipples, rubs circles into them, admittedly enjoying the feel of the small metal bars rolling under the pads of his thumbs.

Tendō tenses and grabs Oikawa by the hair at the nape of his neck, breathing a string of curses into his mouth. “Fuck. Please… Don’t stop, Tōru...”

Oikawa pinches the nibs and twists - not hard enough to injure, just enough to make him ache - and Tendō’s hips stutter. He whimpers, and kisses Oikawa like he’s _desperate_ for it.

It’s a lot at once. Oikawa inhales and - fuck, that was a mistake. For a second Oikawa forgets that his boyfriend is hours away, probably asleep, probably dreaming of volleyballs and the scent of Salonpas. Ushijima lingers in his nose, makes it feel like he’s _here_ , watching them. Combined with Tendō’s own tartness, Tendō’s high-pitched mewls, so unlike the low, reverberating noises Ushijima makes when he’s seconds away from an orgasm, everything is suddenly overwhelming and Oikawa can’t help it - he cries out when he feels Tendō’s fingers close around him.

Embarrassed, Oikawa buries his face in Tendō’s neck, bucking up and into his touch. His hands are softer than Ushijima's, the volleyball calluses old, smoothed over with time instead of fresh and rough. “That’s it, Tōru,” Tendō croons into Oikawa’s hair as he slowly, torturously jerks him off, “Tell me… Are you this good for Wakatoshi-kun?”

“That's - ah!” He can’t believe he’s literally playing into Tendō’s hand like this but at the same time, he can't imagine pulling away now. His cock pulses and Tendō's thumb swipes over the head, spreading the bead of moisture at the tip. "That's…none of your business…"

Oikawa needs to change it up - _fast_ , before it’s too late. After taking a deep breath to clear his head, he darts one hand between them and grabs Tendō through his briefs, smirking against Tendō's mouth when he feels him pause. There’s already a sizable wet spot forming. Oikawa palms the hard line of Tendō’s cock – roughly the same size as his own – and jerks him off through the thin fabric.

"Do you want to fuck me? Hm?" Oikawa purrs, smug when Tendō trembles between his thighs. He thrusts his hips up invitingly. "Of _course_ you do. Well, do your best, Satori." It sounds like a threat. "Don't you dare disappoint me."

Tendō simply laughs and says, "I can't wait to hear you _beg_ ," right before slipping his fingers down to prod at the smooth stretch of Oikawa's perineum.

Oikawa chokes out a moan as he pushes his briefs down, kicks them off. Tendō hums in approval as Oikawa spreads his legs, arches his back to allow Tendō better access, twisting his fingers in the mess of red hair as Tendō descends his torso, lapping and biting at his skin the whole way down.

Tendō licks a stripe up the underside of Oikawa's shaft and Oikawa _keens;_ the pinpoint pressure of the tongue piercing against his frenulum is utterly _divine_ . Tendō sinks down, hot and wet and _tight_ , skillfully swirling his tongue around the head of Oikawa’s cock. Oikawa’s thighs shake when the metal ball dips into the slit, lapping up the fluid flowing freely at this point.

" _Mmmf_ -" Oikawa nearly bites a hole through his lip when Tendō takes all of him into his mouth. His hands are spreading Oikawa’s thighs apart as he works, fingers kneading the muscles, willing them to relax. Oikawa brushes the hair back from Tendō’s face, vision hazy as he watches him work. Tendō’s skin is flushed; his freckles stand out even in the dim light of the room. Oikawa traces a few scattered across his wide forehead, disappearing into his hairline.

Oikawa shudders when the head of his cock bumps against the back of Tendō’s throat. “You look so hot like this, Satori,” he rasps, canting his hips up so he can feel Tendō swallow around him. “It’s almost like you’re made for it.”

Tendō hums, closes his eyes at the touch, his throat constricting and pulsating around the head of Oikawa’s cock and Oikawa struggles not to spill his load down Tendō's throat. The pressure, the vibrations, the heat, it all feels incredible. He tries to press in deeper, _deeper,_ but it’s not enough, it’s –

“Stop, Sacchan. N-not yet,” Oikawa stammers, patting Tendō’s cheek. Surprisingly, Tendō acquiesces, replacing his mouth with a cool hand. Instead he starts to lick his way down Oikawa’s perineum until he’s shoving the tip of his tongue against Oikawa’s entrance, eliciting a sharp gasp of, “Sa...cchan…” Oikawa has Tendō’s hair in a vice grip as he struggles to keep still.

“I’ve missed this, y’know,” Tendō confesses against the inside of Oikawa’s thigh as he starts to press two fingers in, slowly stretching the ring of muscle until it gives. But Oikawa is impatient - he pushes down onto the fingers until he can’t anymore. It’s still not enough. He needs _more_.

“Oh yeah?” he pants. “Wh-which part?”

Tendō bites Oikawa’s inner thigh hard enough to leave a bruise and Oikawa hisses through his teeth. “I dunno,” Tendō smirks. “All of it, I guess. Especially when you make those lewd noises...”

Oikawa throws his head back, grabs the arm of the couch as Tendō adds a third finger and starts moving them in and out, fucking him, stopping just shy of his prostate with each stroke. “ _Fuck,_ ” Oikawa growls. He grabs Tendō’s wrist and meets his eyes. “Condom. _Now_.”

Tendō slowly retrieves his fingers, one at a time. He wipes them off on his briefs, and reaches into the black duffle bag sitting under the coffee table. “Yeesh, so demanding. Anything else I can do for ya while I’m at it?”

“You can hurry up and fuck me,” Oikawa pouts as Tendō slips off his briefs and tosses them to the floor. He watches with wide eyes as Tendō rolls on the condom and grabs a small container of lube, squirting a bit into his hand and rubbing his palms together. Tendō slicks himself up with a practiced hand and Oikawa has to bite his fist to keep from making a noise.

For as long as he can remember, Oikawa has always felt indifferent to the “punk” look Tendō adopted after high school but right now the piercings, tattoo and the mess of red hair gradually falling into Tendō’s face is the perfect storm; Oikawa’s cock bounces against his hip. He’s overwhelmed with how much he wants to _touch_ Tendō, how much he wants to markup that pretty pale skin with his teeth, play connect the dots with the freckles covering Tendō’s chest and back.

Oikawa _wants_ him.

Honestly. If Oikawa had known what the future held back in college, maybe he would’ve reconsidered his priorities. Maybe he would’ve actually _listened_ to Ushijima when he suggested that Oikawa spend some one-on-one time with Tendō. Iwaizumi’s words from earlier in the day echo in Oikawa’s head: _You oughta give him a chance._

Then Tendō looks up at Oikawa with a toothy, unsettling grin and Oikawa realizes that no, he’s glad that Tendō wasn’t like this back in college. That would’ve made things much, _much_ more complicated than they already were at the time.

“What’re _you_ starin’ at?” Tendō quips before climbing on top of Oikawa again. He lines himself up and teases Oikawa’s entrance with the head of his dick, waggling his eyebrows as he does so. “Like what ya see?”

Oikawa scoffs, but he can feel his face heating up again, shivers cascading along his skin. Tendō is torturing him, the bastard; Oikawa can feel himself growing harder at the slight pressure. “If I didn’t, do you think I’d be here right now?" he huffs. "Let’s do this before I change my mind.”

“Ya don’t have to tell me twice.” Tendō presses in slowly - just the head before starting to pull back out - but Oikawa _yanks_ him in deeper, all the way to the hilt, and they both let out a groan.

After a moment, Tendō shakes his head. “You’re such,” he spits as he grabs Oikawa by the hips and snaps his hips, “a fuckin’,” again, “ _brat_.”

Oikawa sinks his teeth into the juncture between Tendō’s shoulder and neck in retaliation but Tendō doesn’t even flinch. Instead he laughs and fists a hand in Oikawa’s hair as he builds up a rhythm.

It's not five minutes before Oikawa feels himself veer dangerously close to the edge again. Tendō is hitting his prostate just right with every thrust. Has he _always_ been this good?

“Oh, _fuck_. Hold-hold on,” Oikawa gasps, placing a hand on Tendō’s chest. “Let me get on top.”

Tendō scoffs, nipping his earlobe as he slows down. “Gotta be in control, huh? Why am I surprised - ”

Oikawa shoves Tendō onto his back before climbing on top of him. “Are you done?” Oikawa asks as he grabs Tendō, lines himself up and starts slowly sinking down.

“Hm. Good question.” Tendō takes hold of Oikawa’s ass and spreads it open, fingers prodding at where they're joined together. “I’m gonna go with... _no._ ” He slips a finger in beside his cock, spreads Oikawa even _wider_ and Oikawa falls forward with a whimper, fingers fisting in the couch cushions behind Tendō’s head.

“Oh, oh _fuck_ \- ” Oikawa’s entire body trembles when the metal bars rub against his own nipples, and then Tendō’s adding _another_ finger, pressing in deeper. The stretch stings a bit but Oikawa _loves_ feeling this full - it reminds him of how it feels when he’s riding Ushijima, how he always has to take it a little slow at first even though they’ve been dating for years, now.

But this is _Tendō_ underneath him, and with Tendō at least he can maintain some sense of composure. Taking a deep, wavering breath, Oikawa leans back and wiggles his hips, fully seating himself on Tendō’s dick. He grimaces when he feels Tendō’s fingers slip out of him.

"Are you always this squirmy?" Tendō jeers, and Oikawa vaguely registers him cleaning his hand off with something before wrapping the same fingers around his cock.

Oikawa makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a gasp against the shell of Tendō’s ear, and he grins. "Only when I’m not being fucked hard enough.”

As if to demonstrate, Oikawa cants his hips and _slams_ down - nearly pulling off of the tip before taking it again. He's rewarded with Tendō tightening his fist around him. Tendō’s touch is more jarring than Oikawa is used to - Ushijima always works him up with slow, firm strokes until he comes – but right now this is just what Oikawa wants and he trembles as Tendō worries a mark along his collarbone.

"Ya _could_ ask me nicely," Tendō murmurs against his skin and Oikawa can feel him smiling. “A ‘please’ usually works jus' fine.”

"Fuck off, Sa - _ahhh!_ " Oikawa arches his back when Tendō thrusts up with enough force to knock the breath out of him.

"You can do it, Oikawa _-san_ ," Tendō croons. He smooths his thumb across Oikawa's bottom lip before pressing his smirk there. "I believe in ya. Say pretty please."

Oikawa growls low in his throat. Tendō's pulling out almost all the way and then stopping, right at the outer ring of muscle, fucking him shallowly, just enough to maintain a connection.

"You wouldn’t _dare._ " Oikawa bites at Tendō’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Tendō licks it off and then licks at Oikawa, the ball of his tongue ring clicking against his front teeth.

Sure enough, Tendō pulls out and shimmies his hips back so that Oikawa can’t sink down onto him again. “Say it.”

“Ugh, fine! _Please_ , Satori, show me why they call you Miracle Boy,” Oikawa snarks with copper on his tongue.

Tendō chuckles. "Theeeere we go."

In one sudden movement Tendō grips Oikawa around the base of his throat with one hand, thumb digging into his windpipe, grabs his ass with the other and snaps his hips up into him until he’s buried to the hilt. He repeats the motion again - and _again_ \- until Oikawa is whimpering hoarsely with each and every thrust, hands coming up to hold Tendō’s arm as his grip tightens around Oikawa’s neck.

 _Don't you dare stop, Satori_ , Oikawa thinks, and then the hand around his neck is gone – he’s on his back. Tendō’s gripping the backs of his legs as he fucks him, moaning loudly into Oikawa's ear, forehead settling into Oikawa's neck as he mutters things like "you're so tight," and Oikawa is _losing_ it – he grabs his cock with one hand, starts jerking himself off while Tendō buries himself deep and –

Stays there.

"Hey," Tendō says, leaning back a bit. "Look at me for a sec."

"Dammit, why did you—" Oikawa's words die in his throat when it hits him, just how low, how _near_ Tendō's voice sounds and he’s genuinely afraid of what he'll see if he opens his eyes.

He opens one and immediately regrets it. Tendō's staring at him with his thin brows drawn together like he's about to say something serious and Oikawa realizes he has to do something, _anything_ before that can happen.

“I – ”

"Take me from behind." Oikawa’s furious with himself when his voice cracks. He can’t get the sound of Tendō’s voice as he says Ushijima’s name in his sleep out of his ears. _Wakkun_.

Tendō swallows, blinks a couple of times. Oikawa sees him nod right before he turns over onto his stomach. "Right," he says, with what sounds like a scoff. "Whatever ya want.”

Oikawa grabs one of the couch pillows to support his head and buries his face in it as he listens to Tendō slick himself up with more lube. He slides inside without much trouble, but Oikawa still gasps. The air has changed - it's close, too close. Tense. Oikawa is suffocating but no amount of deep breathing is going to help him now, so he holds his breath – only to choke on it as Tendō starts up a savage pace and crushes his face against the pillow.

Tendō’s grip is so tight it feels like he's going to rip the hair out of Oikawa’s scalp. Oikawa sees stars but the pain is exactly what he needs. It justifies the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. The cotton is already soaked with his spit and sweat and tears and he can feel the heat coiling in his stomach but Tendō is holding both of his wrists with one hand, so he can't even get off.

“You _fucker_ ,” Oikawa snarls, the sound deep in his chest. “Let go of me!”

“No way in hell. You can come just - like - _this_ .” Tendō punctuates each word with a snap of his hips and Oikawa begins to come apart at the seams. His entire body is shaking under the strain, and he’s close – so _close._

But Oikawa isn’t going to beg. He might let Tendō fuck him like this, might let him have his fun but he is _not_ going to beg. Just because he did it that one time, months ago, doesn’t mean he’s going to do it here and now.

That’s what he _wants_ to believe, but a few seconds later Tendō starts to slow down and Oikawa’s pretty sure he’s dying. He’s pulsing, _leaking,_ his balls aching. It’s awful. He can’t come like this, he just _can’t_ , he never has and he doesn’t plan on starting now, if only because it would make Tendō feel accomplished and that’s the _last_ thing he wants.

It’s mortifying, how loud Oikawa whines when Tendō pulls out and rubs the head of his cock against the cleft of his ass, teasing, taunting. “I fucking - I _hate_ you,” he chokes out. “How _dare_ you – ”

Oikawa jolts like he’s been electrocuted. Tendō’s slams into him hard and fast, pinpointing his prostate and he’s so, so angry - beyond angry, he's _furious_. He ruts against nothing, desperately tries to reach the blanket underneath them but Tendō’s hold on him is merciless.

Oikawa nearly swallows his tongue when he feels Tendō’s breath, hot on his neck. “Beg for it, Tōru,” he says. “I wanna hear ya say it.”

Oikawa strains against Tendō’s grip, but it’s futile. His muscles are spent, hanging by a thread. He supposes he could use their safe word – the one the three of them chose last time Tendō was here – put an end to this, but Oikawa doesn’t want to stop. He knows deep down that he needs this, on some level: to feel humiliated. He’s _craved_ it.

Not that he would ever tell Tendō that. Even if he _is_ the one who brought out this side in Oikawa in the first place.

“Fuck. Just – just let me _come_ .” Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, buries his forehead in the pillow as the word rises on his tongue, bitter betrayal: “ _Please_ , I’m – “

It doesn’t take much. Tendō’s fingers close around his shaft and then Oikawa’s coming with a shout, thick streaks of come painting the blanket beneath him. Tendō doesn’t stop milking him until the last drop, not even as Oikawa’s sobbing into the pillow at the feel of _anything_ dragging against his oversensitive, softening cock.

Then it’s over. Tendō lets go of Oikawa’s wrists – but only so that he can pin them above Oikawa’s head, press his chest to Oikawa’s back as he fucks him with quick, erratic thrusts of his hips, every now and then burying himself as deep as he can.

There’s a dull ache settling in Oikawa’s arms, but he’s too far gone to mind. The mix of expletives and praise that are spilling out of Tendō's mouth – _Fuck, you’re so good for me, Tōru_ – all trembling breaths and broken moans, feed the fire that’s still smoldering under Oikawa’s skin. Oikawa whimpers when Tendō leans up, and, seconds later, comes all over his back, hot and dripping down the grooves in his ribs.

Gradually, silently, Tendō extracts himself. His fingers slowly unfurl from Oikawa’s hair, smooth down his spine. Oikawa vaguely registers the sound of his feet on the hardwood floor as he makes his way to the bathroom, runs some water, but it doesn’t seem real. It’s too far away. He gradually melts into the couch cushions, muscles twitching from overexertion and heart rate returning to normal, little by little.

Oikawa shivers as he feels Tendō press a warm washcloth to his skin, wipe the come and sweat off of him. He mutters something under his breath as he does so but Oikawa doesn’t think he could ask him to repeat himself even if he wanted to: his vocal chords are wrecked just like the rest of him.

Sometime later - either five minutes or thirty, he isn’t sure - Oikawa flips onto his back and notices Tendō sitting on the edge of the couch, with his elbows on his knees and his phone cradled in his hands. He feels a jolt of satisfaction when he realizes the pale skin of his back is riddled with scratch marks, some of them deep enough to bleed.

 _Good. Serves you right._ Oikawa rises into a sitting position and combs his hands through his hair as he tries to regain some sense of composure. “Did you say something, Satori?” he asks. “Earlier, when you were, uh… Cleaning me up.”

Tendō tosses his phone onto the table and pulls on a clean pair of briefs. He doesn’t look in Oikawa’s direction. “Nope,” he replies. “Nothin’.”

Oikawa snorts, but something is off. It's making him feel cold, vulnerable; he pulls the soiled blanket around himself in hopes that it’ll warm him up a bit. He can wash it - and himself - later.

“That’s a first,” he remarks. “You, not wanting to talk? Did you wear yourself out that much, Sacchan?” He attempts a laugh but it’s tinny, grating on his ears. He cringes as it floats in the air. “The _least_ you could do is apologize for making me beg like that. If you think I’m going to let that go anytime soon…” Oikawa trails off as he watches Tendō roll his marked-up shoulders. He can _see_ the tension building between them like a wall, brick by fucked-up brick.

“Sacchan?”

Tendō turns to look at Oikawa, his mouth quirked in a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I hope that wasn’t too disappointin’ for ya.”

The words are a shock. Oikawa shakes his head, sweaty bangs falling into his face. “Don’t be stupid,” he mutters. He wants to say something else, something like _I want more_ , or _can we do that again?_ but his pride is swelling in his throat.

Tendō doesn’t reply to that. He walks over to where Oikawa is sitting, leans down and for a moment Oikawa finds himself yearning for a kiss – but it doesn’t come. Tendō reaches somewhere behind him instead, groping around for a moment before he finds what he’s looking for.

Ushijima’s shirt is in his grip when he pulls back. He holds it up to his face and breathes in. And out. In and out. Oikawa’s chest twinges painfully at sight of the calm spreading over Tendō’s body, loosening his shoulders and the taut muscles in his back. Bites his lip as Tendō shrugs the fabric over his narrow shoulders.

Oikawa looks away. It’s not even that he’s jealous, or upset. It’s that he _understands, and somehow that’s almost worse._

“Welp, I’m gonna crash,” Tendō declares after a moment. His usual carefree demeanor is back, full-force. The whiplash makes Oikawa’s stomach lurch. “You're welcome to stay curled up into a ball, but - ”

“You can sleep in the bed?” Oikawa blurts out. His face is already heating up when he realizes what he’s just done – what this _means_ – but the idea of sleeping alone right now is making him feel queasy. _I’d rather be elbowed in the ribs by a cryptid than sleep alone. Is this what rock bottom feels like?_ “Just this once.”

Tendō blinks at him with those buggy eyes of his. “Nah, it’s cool,” he says. “I’ll probably be up for a bit anyways.”

“Oh. Have it your way, then.” Trying to ignore the sensation that he’d just been rejected, somehow, Oikawa reaches for his own phone with a sniff and swipes it open. There’s an unread text from Iwaizumi. He can deal with that later. “You do realize it’s 2 AM, right?”

Tendō shrugs as he pads into the kitchen. He reaches into the pantry and grabs a bag of dried edamame from his shelf, the one Ushijima made for him.

“Well. Ya know me,” Tendō says as he rips the bag open. “Sleep and I’ve never been good friends.”

“Right.” Oikawa rises from the couch with wobbly legs. He still has the blanket wrapped around him. It drags on the ground as he rounds the corner to his bedroom – _alone_ , for the second night in a row. It should feel like a victory, but instead he just feels hollow. “Have a good night, then.”

Tendō’s reply is so soft that Oikawa can barely even hear it. “Night, Tōru.”

✾✾✾

Oikawa doesn’t even look in the direction of the couch before he leaves the apartment the next morning and when he comes back an hour later, he’s mildly surprised to find Tendō gone.

He pulls out his phone to reply to the text Iwaizumi sent him the day before.

iwa-chan (7:03 PM): Did you guys manage to clear the air a bit???

Oikawa swallows.

me (8:03 AM): not exactly.

✾✾✾  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, i've honestly been blown away by the feedback on this!! THANKS, Y'ALL!! it means so much to me ♥️♥️♥️
> 
> thank you ellie for the beta and amber, maëlle and AJ for the continued support and read-throughs, i really don't know what i would do without you guys.
> 
> ANYWAY I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THE ~~ANGST~~ SMUT!!! /SWEATS
> 
>  
> 
> _EDIT 6/5/17: made some edits in the second half of the chapter._


	4. grocery store confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Oikawa hates that his own shirt looks better on Tendō than it ever did on him. He _hates_ it. But instead of glaring like he wants, he catches himself admiring the way the red in the shirt matches the color of Tendō’s hair, the orange flecks in his eyes to the exact hue. They’re _his_ colors, as wild and uncoordinated as he is.
> 
> By the time they make it to the store, Oikawa is flushed and more than a little annoyed–which is nothing short of remarkable, since Tendou hasn’t even said anything for the last _ten minutes._
> 
> "I don't understand you one bit," Oikawa huffs as he squirts some of the store-provided hand sanitizer into his palm before grabbing a basket. "You brought literally an entire suitcase full of designer clothes, and yet you go out of your way to steal my ratty shirt from the year two-thousand-and- _sixteen?"_
> 
> Tendō glances down at his carefully curated outfit. "I'm not sure what you're bitchin' about,” he says. “I look damn good. The aviators cinch it, I think."

Oikawa is in the middle of his usual morning shower when his phone goes off. He frowns; what if it’s Tendō, telling him where he ran off to so early? Or–his stomach growls at this–what if he’s asking what he wants for breakfast? There’s a nice bakery down the street and sometimes–

No. That’s something  _ Ushijima  _ would do, not Tendō. Oikawa’s heart stutters and sinks a little as he turns the handle all the way to the side, stopping only when the water cuts off. He takes his time drying off before he picks up his phone.

It’s neither name on the dimming screen–it’s Iwaizumi.

iwa-chan (9:11 AM): what

iwa-chan (9:11 AM): what the hell did you do

Oikawa sighs. He’s tired, and a bit sore in the shoulders from having his hands pinned behind his back, but honestly? He doesn’t regret last night. At least—he doesn’t regret that it  _ happened _ . Oikawa wanted it, wanted Tendō.

And he wants more. He just wasn’t prepared for certain…aspects of it.

Oikawa takes a deep breath. Taps out a reply.

me (9:13 AM): everything is fine ✿◕ ‿ ◕✿

iwa-chan (9:15 AM): wtf

me (9:16 AM): ...i panicked

iwa-chan (9:18 AM): SHITTYKAWA

iwa-chan (9:18 AM): WHAT DID YOU DO

_ It wasn’t my fau— _ no, that’s not right. He backspaces with a long groan.

me (9:22 AM): fine. if u must know, he tried to talk about his Feelings

me (9:23 AM): and i’m not about that life ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

iwa-chan (9:24 AM): are you being serious right now or

me (9:26 AM): yes!! i’m traumatized

me (9:26 AM): he tried to do it during sex, iwa-chan

me (9:27 AM): DURING. SEX. i thought he just wanted to fuck me but

As if on cue, the bathroom door swings open and there’s Tendō, taking up the entire doorway and grinning breathlessly at Oikawa, who nearly drops his phone into the sink. “Shit—haven’t you ever heard of  _ knocking _ ?” he snaps, setting the phone down and tugging his towel tighter around his waist even though it’s perfectly secure. “What do you want?”

"Oh, nice. Was worried I'd missed ya," Tendō replies, and Oikawa takes a moment to take in the sight of him. His hair is held back with a rolled-up bandana, he's got neon green earbuds in, and his running shorts are drenched in sweat. They cling to his thighs, not leaving much to the imagination.

Oikawa crosses his arms over his hot, itchy chest. It’s not even 10 AM and he already needs  _ another  _ shower. “What? S’not like I haven’t seen ya naked before,” Tendō chuckles as he fiddles with his iPod. “In fact, I remember it like it was yesterday–”

“Do you ever get sick of hearing yourself talk?” Oikawa flicks a lock of damp hair out of his eyes. Then, when he sees Tendō’s lips part, “That was rhetorical.” He glares over his phone at his reflection in the mirror, just the corner of Tendō’s gross, sweaty elbow invading the edge of it.

iwa-chan (9:30 AM): i mean. normal people say what they’re feeling during or after sex

iwa-chan (9:30 AM): it’s called intimacy

iwa-chan (9:31 AM): not everyone is an emotional turnip

_ Rude, Iwa-chan _ . Oikawa wrinkles his nose as he types out a response saying as much. When he looks up, Tendō hasn’t moved, but his eyebrows have fallen from his terrible  _ Dreamworks _ smirk into something human, something flat, smile only a tease in his eyes. Oikawa’s muscles bunch; the cheap apartment lighting is bright and stark but his mind flashes to scratchy polyester and flickering city lights through blinds– He shakes his head.  _ No. _

"Is there a particular  _ reason  _ you're still here? I’m starting to think you get off on invading my personal space.” Oikawa picks up his comb off the counter and starts taming the tangled mess on his head, water flicking on the countertop with each swipe. "Although...” There’s a pause as he catches Tendō’s eye in the mirror and grins. “I suppose you’ve always had a penchant for butting in. Isn’t that right, Sacchan?”

Tendō’s grimace–and the awful silence that follows–twists up his stomach and wipes his face flat. That’s–silence isn’t how they  _ work _ .

“Fuck,” Oikawa mutters. “Sorry, I. That was–”

_ That was low, even for me. _

“S’fine.” Tendō waves it off, but he’s staring at the (sunflower-covered, courtesy of Ushijima’s last trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond) shower curtains instead of Oikawa, mirrored  _ or _ real. “Uh. Anyways, I was gonna head over the market for some odds n’ ends. Did ya wanna join?”

Oikawa blinks in surprise, then quickly grooms his expression into one of nonchalance. “Well, that depends," he drawls. "Are you buying?"

"Figured I would." Tendō tugs his earbuds free and wraps them around his iPod. "Since I've cleaned out yer leftovers. Was thinkin' about cooking tonight anyways."

The mental image of Tendō in nothing else but Ushijima's cow-print apron—the same apron Oikawa had bought him as a  _ joke _ when they first moved in—makes Oikawa pause for a moment. “Oh.” He swallows on a dry mouth. “I see.”

Tendō quirks an eyebrow at Oikawa through the mirror. “Unless ya had other plans?”

“Not at all.” Oikawa squirts some volumizing gel into his palms and rubs them together before working his fingers through his hair, from roots to ends. “I just didn’t realize you knew how to cook anything besides ramen.”

“Hah. I like to think I’ve levelled up since college, y’know. I at least put an egg in now.” Tendō’s mouth twitches as he turns to leave, pulling the door behind him. "I'm gonna go make myself pretty n’ shit. Lemme know when you're ready t’go."

Oikawa rolls his eyes as the door clicks, leaving him alone in the bathroom once more. He’s washing hair product off his hands when his phone vibrates into the toothbrush holder.

iwa-chan (9:36 AM): am i wrong

me (9:37 AM): shut up iwa-chan

✾✾✾

The walk to the grocery store is awkward and mostly silent, save for Tendō's intermittent humming. Oikawa is doing his best not to stare but it’s hard  _ not _ to–Tendō stole one of his old floral print shirts straight from the back of his closet and didn’t even bother to button it all the way up. He  _ also _ grabbed Ushijima’s old aviators off of the kitchen counter on their way out, and the way they swallow his face and keep slipping down his nose is... distracting, in a way Oikawa doesn’t want to dwell on.

Oikawa hates that his own shirt looks better on Tendō than it ever did on him. He  _ hates _ it. But instead of glaring like he wants, he catches himself admiring the way the red in the shirt matches the color of Tendō’s hair, the orange flecks in his eyes to the exact hue. They’re  _ his _ colors, as wild and uncoordinated as he is.

By the time they make it to the store, Oikawa is flushed and more than a little annoyed–which is nothing short of remarkable, since Tendō hasn’t even said anything for the last _ ten minutes. _

"I don't understand you one bit," Oikawa huffs as he squirts some of the store-provided hand sanitizer into his palm before grabbing a basket. "You brought literally an  _ entire suitcase  _ full of designer clothes, yet you go out of your way to steal  _ my  _ ratty shirt from the year two-thousand-and- _ sixteen _ ?"

Tendō glances down at his carefully curated outfit. "I'm not sure what you're bitchin' about,” he says. “I look  _ damn _ good. The aviators cinch it, I think."

Oikawa fumes as he follows Tendō down one of the aisles. “I’m impressed,” he deadpans. “You might  _ actually  _ look even more hideous than usual."

"Y’know, Tōru-kun, I feel like that’s more of a reflection on your tastes than mine,” Tendō says. “Just remember: your closet.”

Oikawa swallows a groan as he grabs a box of cornflakes and tosses it into the basket with a little more force than intended, causing it to bounce in between the shrimp chips and a jar of crunchy peanut butter Tendō snatched on their way in. For a moment, Oikawa considered putting the snacks back, but this was probably the last chance he would have to indulge his bad habits before the next season started. He grabs a bag of milkbread from the clearance stand instead.

He’s inspecting curry powders on the next aisle over when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He whirls around, heart in his throat. " _ What? _ ”

Tendō tilts his head, amused. “Were ya zoning out or somethin’?” he asks, waving a hand in front of Oikawa’s face. “Helloooo, earth to Tōru–”

Oikawa bats it away. “Well maybe if you hadn’t sneaked up on me like a jerk, I wouldn’t have–”

"Listen,” Tendō interrupts. “I. Uh.” His voice is low, low and quiet, such a contrast to his personality and his shirt that Oikawa’s rant settles on the back of his tongue. “I wanted to apologize. Y’know… For barging in on ya like I did the other day. Didn’t really think that one through as well as I should’ve.”

Oikawa stares for what feels like a full minute. People pass by, and the song drifting from the speakers changes before he  _ cracks _ . “Are you being serious right now?” he blurts out with a bubble laugh. “We’re in the middle of a grocery store–you do realize that, right? If you think I’m going to let you make a scene–”

“Shhhh–slow your roll for a sec,” Tendō hushes him. He adjusts the sunglasses so that they shield his eyes again, but they just slip back down a few seconds later. “I have somethin’ I wanna say.”

Oikawa takes a deep breath through his nose. Tendō, meanwhile, looks like he’s about to come out of his goddamn skin (Oikawa wonders if he’s about to shed, like his lizard relatives do). Sure, Tendō’s tendency to fidget is nothing new, but he’s gotten a lot better since high school–or at least, that’s what Ushijima said when Oikawa asked whether Tendō has always been “like that.” Right now, he’s scratching the back of his neck every few seconds, chewing on his bottom lip enough to make it swell, bug-like eyes flitting from the curry behind Oikawa to the linoleum below his feet to the aisle sign above and generally everywhere  _ but _ Oikawa’s face.

“Well?” Oikawa asks, crossing his arms. “I’m listening.”

“I should’ve called ya before I showed up, but I guess I just…” He lets out a frustrated growl and Oikawa can’t believe it–he’s  _ blushing _ . “Fuck, I dunno. It’s complicated.”

Oikawa doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tendō quite like this. It’s a pleasant change. "Oh?" he coos, biting on a smug grin. “Is it?”

Tendō considers this for a moment before he starts to back away slowly. "Nah,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Forget it." He pushes the cart the rest of the way down the aisle and hairpin turns towards the dairy, leaving Oikawa standing there slack-jawed with the jar of curry powder in his hand.

"Wait, Sacchan–" He jumps out after him, but his impossible-to-miss spectrum has vanished.  _ Damn. _

Oikawa spends a few minutes peering down different aisles until he finds him again, crouched down in front of a wall of soda. Oikawa tosses the curry jar into the basket and concentrates on catching his breath while Tendō takes off the sunglasses, folds them up and slips them into the front pocket of his shirt– _ Oikawa’s _ shirt.

“Now what–”

“Strawberry or melon?”

There’s a pause as Oikawa swallows what he was about to say. “Lychee.”

Tendō bends down and grabs strawberry, because  _ of course  _ he does. Oikawa opens his mouth to complain when Tendō turns and meets his eyes dead-on.

The first thing that strikes Oikawa are Tendō’s dark circles. They’re prominent today, plum quarter-moons under red eclipse-rims. He rubs at his own empathetically, pushing his bangs out of their way.

“When I told Wakkun about wantin’ to spend more time with ya, he thought it sounded like a good idea. So I decided t’ take a risk,” Tendō says as he turns the soda can over in his hands. Over and over. He glances up at Oikawa with worry lined into his wide, freckled forehead. “I felt like we got close enough last time, so I thought it might be okay to surprise ya but…wishful thinkin’ on my part, I guess.”

_ We did,  _ Oikawa wants to say, but the words get stuck somewhere behind the heart in his throat.  _ We did get closer, you idiot. But then you left without even– _

“I gotta admit,” Tendō scoffs as he stares up at the fluorescents. His tone is uncharacteristically bitter, and it makes Oikawa’s stomach lurch. “I’m usually pretty good at figurin’ out when I’m not wanted, but you’re shootin’ off all kinds of mixed signals and I ain’t a mind reader. So I’m just gonna make it easy for ya.” He meets Oikawa’s gaze with a swallow. “Do ya want me to leave or not?”

_ “Cleanup on aisle three,”  _ a fuzzy voice says over the intercom, interrupting yet another derivative pop song, and, consequently, Oikawa’s train of thought. As he waits for the song to start up again, searches Tendō’s eyes, his heart lurches painfully in his chest.

“No, that’s not what I want,” he replies, throat tight around every syllable. Tendō’s eyebrows twitch upward and Oikawa can’t look away. “If I wanted you to leave, you’d be gone already. It’s–” His lip wobbles ominously. “It’s not that fucking simple.”

Oikawa finally looks away and fixates on a piece of gum stuck to the filthy white tile near his feet. He can’t stomach the look on Tendō’s face any more – open, tired, lips a _little_ parted – not while everything threatens to boil over. He has to _think._ _Come up with a strategy. That, at least, is something he knows how to do._

Oikawa shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels. “I have no idea what to expect from you in all this. It’s exhausting – the not knowing,” he says, and shuts his eyes so he can focus on making his voice even. “I—I get that you and Wakatoshi have this...agreement that you can come by whenever you’re in town, but  _ I _ was never a part of that. I mean, I agreed to it, for his sake, but I wasn’t a  _ part _ of it. It was different when it was just you and him, but now it’s—”

“It’s not, Tōru,” Tendō finishes, quietly. “I don’t want it to be. Do you?”

Oikawa considers for a moment. He feels like he’s going to be sick. “I…” He frowns. “I don’t know, Sacchan.”

_ I don’t know what I want. _

Oikawa glimpses Tendō’s hand twitch out of the corner of his eye and suddenly they’re holding hands, Tendō’s thumb rubbing circles into Oikawa’s dry, callused palm. Oikawa’s ears are burning, the ringing so loud that he can’t even hear his own heartbeat anymore, much less the music. He’s torn; does he snatch his hand away, or squeeze Tendō’s hand hard enough to hear those bony knuckles crack?

_ Crack. _ Tendō squeezes back just as hard. “Wanna get outta here?” he asks, slanting a grin Oikawa’s way as he puts Ushijima’s aviators back on. “Y’know, before I have my cover blown.”

✾✾✾

Oikawa doesn’t know what sparked it.

One minute he’s reaching for his keys and the next, Tendō's behind him, his teeth sharp on the back of Oikawa’s neck. He has to try  _ three times _ to get his key in the lock and by the time the door swings open, they fall into the apartment, tripping over each other in their haste to rip each other apart.

Tendō tosses the grocery bags onto the granite countertop and then he’s on Oikawa–grabbing him by his face, licking at his mouth and forcing it open with his tongue. Tendō’s breathy little moans make Oikawa’s hands shake as he tugs blindly at the floral-print shirt; he rips it off of Tendō's narrow shoulders before they even kick off their shoes. In between bruising, biting kisses Oikawa glances in the direction of his bedroom, wondering if maybe it would be a good idea to—

His efforts are futile. He chokes on a startled cry when Tendō slams him against the hallway wall, yanks his polo shirt over his head and flings it away with enough force for it to land somewhere in the middle of the living room. The hair on his arms prickles at the sudden chill as he grabs Tendō’s face, slotting their mouths together again. What he really wants is to flip them around so that  _ Tendō _ is the one pinned, but he's too slow—Tendō's already prying his thighs apart with his knee, pressing in until he’s flush against Oikawa’s hard-on.

“Damn, Tōru-kun,” Tendō breathes with a lazy prod of his hips. “Was last night not enough for ya?”

Oikawa retorts by dragging his nails down Tendō’s back, intentionally retreading the same trail he blazed last night. The marks are raised, hot under Oikawa's fingers as Tendō arches into him, shudders so hard his teeth clack together. Seconds later he registers the  _ thud  _ of Tendō's forehead hitting sheetrock, somewhere above his shoulder. “Tell me, were ya– _ aaah _ –" he chokes on a gasp as Oikawa starts to rut against him, "fantasizin' about this the whole way back?”

"Hah! You  _ wish _ ," Oikawa pants. " _ You're  _ the one wh–who started it. Take responsibility." He bites Tendō’s bottom lip hard enough to taste copper before pulling away to trail bloody kisses down his neck and chest, taking special care to leave a nice little mark right above his collarbone–somewhere people  _ will _ see, unless he wears a turtleneck (it’s the middle of May). Tendō's pale enough that he’ll have to layer concealer like frosting–

Tendō cackles, sandpaper and saltwater. "Oh, no ya don't."

Oikawa yelps—Tendō’s grabbing him by the hair, forcing his face up, holding him steady with his head tilted back so he can lick at his open mouth. Tendō doesn't break eye contact as he leans away, rib by rib, to unbuckle Oikawa’s belt, eyes red and purple and black and  _ heavy _ . “That wasn't very nice, y’know.”

The sound of the buckle hitting hardwood makes Oikawa's entire body twitch, eyebrows to toes. He digs his nails into Tendō's shoulders as hard as he can, feels a jolt of satisfaction and hot arousal as Tendō grunts in pain. Oikawa can't even  _ remember _ the last time he was this high on adrenaline, this ready to tackle someone to the ground outside of a volleyball game.

It feels  _ incredible. _

Tendō has always brought out a side of Oikawa that he's never really touched with anyone else—it’s aggressive,  _ visceral. He _ wants to explore it, claw his way to the bottom, wants to grab Tendō by his long, tangled mess he calls hair and shove him face down on the bed,  _ fuck _ him until he’s  _ begging _ like he made Oikawa beg.

The mere thought of it send a thrill down Oikawa’s spine, nearly pushes him over the edge. He lets out a throaty growl as Tendō makes quick work of unbuttoning his shorts, shoving them down so fabric pools at his ankles. He tries to shift away from the friction of Tendō’s thigh—his boxers are already damp and he’s hard as a rock—but Tendō's fingers are constrictor tight in his hair, sharp, stinging pain down his scalp every time he moves.

Oikawa swallows. His lips are chapped, his mouth is dry–his throat  _ aches _ with each ragged breath as he fights not to give Tendō the satisfaction of collapsing against the wall. He’s embarrassed when Tendō presses a hand between his legs and he starts fucking into his loose, teasing grip almost immediately. “Wait, I want— Ah—”

Oikawa is just about to come and then the contact is gone, leaving him with only spots in his eyes and murder on his mind. “I  _ hate _ you, I fucking hate you, Satori—” he tries to snarl but it just comes out as a pathetic whine that stabs worse than the empty air.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Tōru,” Tendō complains. “What were ya gonna say? Tell me.”

Oikawa is tempted to headbutt that shit-eater grin–fill his mouth with the same blood caked on his neck, the color of his hair, hanging in tendrils around his face. It brushes Oikawa’s cheek every time Tendō leans in. "Hey, Tōru,” he murmurs. “Do ya wanna  _ fuck _ me? Is that it?"

Oikawa lets out a hoarse laugh and is about to retort with something along the lines of,  _ you’d like that, wouldn’t you? _ but then Tendō’s grip on his scalp opens and Oikawa crumples in relief. He rests his forehead in the crook of Tendō’s shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “I’ll let ya, if ya want,” Tendō whispers. He’s playing with the hair at the nape of Oikawa’s neck as he talks. “If ya ask nicely.”

Oikawa lets out a low laugh against Tendō’s neck before straightening so he can meet his eyes. “I think you’ve got it backwards,  _ Sacchan _ ,” he bites, his smile sweet as he reaches up and twists his fingers in Tendō’s hair. “By the time I’m done  _ you’re _ going to be the one who’s asking for it.”

“Mmmm. Oh yeah?” Tendō wets his lips, his piercing glinting in the dim light of the hallway. “I wanna see ya try.”

✾✾✾

Oikawa makes a noise halfway between a groan and a whimper. They’re covered in the gamut of bodily fluids and Tendō’s spooning him–in the loosest sense of the word. He’s thrown his limbs over Oikawa and is rubbing his face into Oikawa’s hair, ruining it to the best of his ability.

“Sacchaaaan,” Oikawa whines from underneath him. “Quit it.” He pushes Tendō’s freckled face away.

“But you’re so  _ soft _ ,” Tendō says, voice muffled. He nuzzles Oikawa’s palm with a purr. “Mmmm. Wanna know somethin’? I can always tell when Wakatoshi-kun uses that fancy-ass conditioner of yers ‘cause he keeps touchin’ his hair.”

Oikawa can’t help it–he grins into the pillow at that, eyes drifting shut. His limbs are fusing into the mattress–he doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to.

But he  _ has _ to, because somewhere in his room his phone is going off to the tune of  _ What’s New Pussycat _ . His initial instinct is to slap for it on his bedside table, but nothing’s there besides hand lotion. It takes him another few slaps to realize it’s still in his pants, which are in the hamper at the foot of the bed.

Oikawa manages to wiggle out from under Tendō and crawl down to dig through his and Ushijima’s dirty clothes until he finds the phone nestled at the bottom. He clears his throat and smooths his hair back before answering. “Uh–Yeah, hello?”

_ ‘Oikaaaaawa-san,’  _ Kuroo’s voice drawls.  _ ‘You sound... preoccupied. Did I call at a bad time?’ _

Oikawa flips over and rests his feet on the small of Tendō’s back, running his toe along the protruding vertebrae, one by one. “Ah! Nope, I just got back from the gym,” he replies with the most carefree laugh he can muster, even though he hasn’t been to the gym in  _ days. _ “What’s up, Tetsu? I haven’t heard from you or Kou-chan in a while. Been busy?”

Kuroo makes a pensive noise.  _ ‘Kinda,’  _ he says.  _ ‘My mom was visiting last week and–’ _

Tendō chooses this moment to stretch, complete with a very loud, very obnoxious yawn. Oikawa bites his lip as he clutches the phone tighter to his ear.

_ Shit. _

_ ‘Sounds like you’ve got company after all.’ _  Oikawa can practically hear Kuroo leering over the phone.  _ ‘Anyone I know?’ _

Oikawa sweats profusely–quite the feat, considering how much of it is currently soaking through to the mattress cover right now. “No–seriously, no one’s here,” he winces when his voice comes out high-pitched and tinny. “Ushiwaka-chan went back home for the week, remember? It’s just the... TV. Anyways, what’s–”

“ _ We are fighting dreamers–” _

Oikawa kicks Tendō in the ribs. Later he’ll say it was reflex, but the fact is that he hates song and he’ll be damned if Tendō sings it during their  _ afterglow _ –

_ “Oi!”  _ Tendō yelps. “C’mon, now. Is that any way to treat a guy who just–”

Oikawa jerks the phone away from his ear and covers the mouthpiece before hissing, “Fuck–Satori, shut  _ up! _ ”

Tendō doesn’t take kindly to that. In one lithe movement he sits up, crawls over to Oikawa, and snatches the phone out of his hand–but both of their hands are slippery, and the phone lands on the bed, sliding to speaker. Kuroo’s voice fills the room.

_ ‘Oikawa? You okay there, dude?’ _

Oikawa moves to reach for the phone but Tendō is too quick. “He’s bein’ contained,” Tendō assures with an awful, toothy grin that prompts instant regret in everything that’s transpired in the last few hours. “Long time no talk, Tetsu. How’s it hangin’?”

“Get  _ off  _ of me, you bastard,” Oikawa growls when Tendō climbs on top of him.

Kuroo’s laugh drowns out the sound of Oikawa wailing as Tendō sits on him and pins his wrists down above his head. Oikawa’s arms shake while he tries to escape but after about thirty seconds of struggling he lays back on the bed, sweaty and pouting.

_ ‘Is that you, Tendō?’  _ Kuroo asks after he’s recovered.  _ ‘Shit, I didn’t even know you were visiting. How long are ya here for this time?” _

“Couple weeks,” Tendō replies as he grinds his hips down. There’s a sheet separating them, and the friction against his oversensitive bits makes Oikawa almost come off the bed. He bites his tongue suppressing a moan. “Hold on a sec, aren’t you supposed to be in Russia or somethin’?”

“Newsflash: he’s been back in Japan for the last  _ six months, _ ” Oikawa snaps as he–at long last–retrieves his hands so he can wrap them around Tendō’s narrow waist. “Which you’d know, if you ever logged into Facebook.” Panting, Oikawa attempts to maneuver Tendō off of him but it’s futile–Tendō’s digging his weird grippy toes into the mattress and it’s clear that he’s not going to budge. Normally, Oikawa would just be able to toss him off since it’s not like he weighs much these days, but his muscles are  _ spent _ and Tendō knows it–he’s using it to his advantage.

_ Bastard. _

“Oh,  _ Tōru _ ,” Tendō croons. He blows his hair out of his face so he can stare down at Oikawa with both eyes. “You still use  _ Facebook _ ? That’s adorable–y’know, in a domestic, small-town-jock kinda way.”

“ _ Excuse _ you? I’m an  _ Olympian _ –” Oikawa grabs the sheets beneath them to keep from whining as Tendō rolls his hips again. Kuroo’s still on the line and he’ll be  _ damned _ if he gives him ammunition to use. Kuroo stockpiles blackmail just like he stockpiles puns, cheesy inspirational quotes and “dad jokes” (he usually tests the dad jokes out on Ushijima, to varying success.)

_ ‘Oh, that reminds me. We caught that new movie of yours, Tendō-san,’ _ Kuroo yawns, and Oikawa honestly isn’t sure whether he’s oblivious to what’s happening on the other end of the line or is tactfully ignoring it. Even though he knows Kuroo possesses tact, it always surprises him when he actually bothers to use it–probably because there’s no rhyme or rhythm to it.  _ ‘Bokuto’s never really been into anime but he was a mess at the end–he was crying for like, an hour when they had to put the dude into the cryochamber. When he finds out you’re within a 10-mile radius he’s gonna break down your door.’ _

Tendō smiles, and it’s so bright that it makes Oikawa forget he’s trying to get  _ away _ from him. “I always aim to please,” Tendō says. “Thanks for the glowin’ review, Tetsu. I’ll be sure to pass it along to the higher-ups.”

Oikawa heaves a great sigh. His thumbs are now drawing circles on Tendō’s hips instead of digging bruises into them, but he hasn’t given up–he’s just pausing so he’ll have the energy to flip them both over.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. “Sorry to interrupt this touching conversation,” he snarks, “but why did you call, again?”

_ ‘Ah, yes.’ _ Oikawa hears pots and pans clattering in the background. His stomach growls - Kuroo makes  _ damn  _ good food.  _ ‘I was wonderin’ if you wanted to practice with us tonight. But since Tendō is in town–’ _

“Volleyball?” Tendō sits up, eyes wide. “Can I play too?”

Tendō’s voice tugs at Oikawa. He had never actually asked Tendō  _ why _ he quit playing. When he asked Ushijima, he’d gotten a vague response, but the timing had never been right for them to talk about it one-on-one and Tendō is slippery about personal questions. Oikawa had always assumed his curiosity would be met with a joke.

Maybe it was time to try again.

_ ‘Huh. Sure, I don’t see why not. It’s just us dicking around at the gym with some of the guys from the neighborhood league.’ _ He makes a pensive noise.  _ ‘I’ll let Bokuto know. We can two-on-two.’ _

Tendō hops off of Oikawa in a flash, feet hitting the floor with a  _ thud _ before Oikawa can even take a breath. “Count me in!” he calls over his shoulder before scampering into the bathroom.

Oikawa picks up his phone and turns off the speaker in anticipation of what happens next–there’s the sound of water spraying on tile, closely followed by Tendō’s muffled squawk as he steps under water that’s probably as cold as the ice in his freezer. Oikawa drags a hand over his face and into his hair, which is matted and damp with who-knows-what, and almost whimpers at the prospect of having to style it all over again.

He supposes it was worth it, but  _ still _ .

_ ‘Well, I gotta admit–this is an interesting development,’  _ Kuroo says, interrupting Oikawa’s train of thought.  _ ‘I didn’t think he’d visit without Ushijima around. Is that...normal for you guys now? I feel mysteriously out of the loop.” _

“My, my, Tetsu-chan, how perceptive you are. No, it’s not  _ normal. _ ” Oikawa twirls a strand of ruined hair around his finger. “It never is,” he adds, in a quieter voice.

_ ‘Hm. Seems like you two are gettin’ along, at least,’  _ Kuroo comments.

Oikawa’s face heats up as he swings his legs off the bed. He glances at the bathroom, where he can hear an upsettingly good rendition of  _ Fighting Dreamers _ drifting through the cracked door.  _ Three days _ . It had only taken three days for them to get to this point.

Oikawa is less upset about that than he thought he would be, and  _ that  _ upsets him. “In a sense,” he sighs. “Let’s just say I’m making the most of it.”

_ ‘Oh yeah?’  _ A timer goes off in the distance and the sizzling stops, replaced by the clinking of plates.  _ ‘How’s that, exactly?’ _

Oikawa’s toes curl against the smooth hardwood floor and his palms begin to sweat as the weight of their earlier conversation sets in like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

_ ‘Oikawa?’ _

“Text me later when you guys are headed over that way and we’ll meet you,” Oikawa rattles off. “Later, Tetsu-chan!”

Before Kuroo can respond, Oikawa hangs up the phone and tosses it onto the bed, only for it to vibrate a few seconds later.

that darn cat (2:23 PM): Have you guys talked about what happened last time he was here???

that darn cat (2:23 PM): bc I feel like that’s kinda important in the grand scheme of things

Oikawa doesn’t bother replying–they can talk later. He’s starving and needs a shower  _ desperately _ ; he doesn’t even bother to wait for Tendō to finish before he climbs in.

“Move outta the way, Sacchan. You’re using up all the hot water,” Oikawa gripes as he shoves Tendō out from under the showerhead. “If we’re meeting up with those two later I have to be  _ presentable _ .”

Tendō hoots and Oikawa can feel the gust of air, hot on his neck. “I don’t think a shower is gonna help much with that, sweetheart.”

“Hmph. Don't call me sweetheart,” Oikawa retorts, but his words lack their usual bite. Tendō's doing a great job of distracting him–his hands are hot as they rove over his chest and stomach, pulling him closer until Oikawa feels a familiar hardness nudging between his thighs. “Ah,” he gasps. “That was...fast.”

Tendō mouths along Oikawa's shoulder blade as he reaches lower and Oikawa shudders despite the warm water coursing down his body. "What can I say? I was made kinda special."

Oikawa can't disagree with that statement. Instead, he braces himself against the shower wall and arches his back, wiggling his hips. “Go ahead,” he huffs, pushing a wet piece of hair out of his eyes as he looks over his shoulder at Tendō. “Just don’t take too long. I’m hungry.”

“Is that right?” Tendō croons, tightening his grip around Oikawa enough to elicit a moan that echoes off the tile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

✾✾✾

"Looks like Bokuto's revved up tonight," Oikawa comments as he pulls on his knee brace. "Think you can handle it?"

When they first got to the small neighborhood gym, Bokuto had nearly tackled Tendō to the grass. Remarkably, Tendō was able to remain upright as Bokuto leapt at him–Oikawa isn't sure he would’ve been able to do the same, given Bokuto's considerable brawn. He can’t count the number of times he’s had the wind knocked out of him by one of Bokuto’s hugs.

"Duh." Tendō bundles his hair into a haphazard bun at the crown of his head before looping his hair tie around once, twice. He blows a stray piece out of his eye before he turns to Oikawa. "Who do ya think revved him up in the first place?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. “Miracle Boy Satori doesn't start things he can't finish."

Kuroo gives a lopsided grin when Oikawa looks to him for back-up. “What? You heard the man.”

Oikawa scowls. “Fine. Don’t blame me if you get your skinny ass handed to you,” he says to Tendō in the same tone he uses with the kids he coaches. “And  _ you _ –” he points to Kuroo, “– _ You’re _ responsible if he gets hurt trying to block one of Bokuto’s straights.”

Tendō shakes his head as Kuroo helps him tape up his fingers. "Jeeze," he mutters. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Oikawa- _ san _ . Are you always this much of a buzzkill?"

"You’re out of shape whether you want to admit it or not," Oikawa argues. He grabs a ball and spins it in his hands before shoving it at Tendō's chest hard enough for Tendō to let out a grunt. "I’m just trying to be nice. You could show a little appreciation instead of acting like a tit.”

Tendō takes the ball and perches it on his hip. "Look here, just 'cause I'm not ridiculously ripped like you three doesn't mean I'm outta shape." He flexes one of his freckled, lanky arms as if that's supposed to convince them, and Oikawa holds his fingers to his lips to keep from scoffing too loud. "I'll have ya know I work out five days a week, which–from what I've seen in the last three days–is more than can be said for you, Tōru-kun.”

Kuroo hoots a laugh, and Oikawa crosses his arms defensively. "You just so happened to catch me on my rest week," he informs Tendō. "Even professional athletes–"

They're interrupted by a shout. Bokuto‘s enthusiastic jump serve had gone haywire, the ball landing in the bleachers and smack in the middle of a group of high school kids that’d been loitering instead of getting their asses home before curfew. Oikawa watches as Bokuto apologizes, waving his hands about. Unfortunately, they don't seem to be listening–they're too busy stumbling over each other trying to leave.

"Oh, Koutarou-kun," Tendō says with a sigh. "Please never change."

Oikawa feels a wave of nostalgia; his college memories are sprinkled with incidents just like this one, like when a libero on an opposing team had to be taken out of the game after breaking his wrist trying to receive one of Bokuto's spikes. Much to their coach’s frustration, Bokuto hadn't wanted to go back onto the court until he  _ knew _ the other player was okay.

Bokuto's expression is comically crestfallen as he descends the bleachers. “I said I was sorry,” he complains as he approaches. “Why didn’t they  _ believe _ me?”

Tendō sputters a laugh, but Kuroo shrugs as he watches the kids sneak out through the double doors. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what they get for hangin’ out here instead of going home,” he mutters. “Anyways. Shall we?”

Tendō makes an affirmative noise, his eyes wide as saucers and mouth agape as he observes a couple of the guys from the neighborhood league prepare for a quick. It’s the same expression he used to have during their high school games, when he was trying to figure out who Oikawa was going to set to. Right before he called him a “predictable mess.”

Oikawa had surprised him with a setter dump the next rotation. Today, Tendō surprises Oikawa in turn by successfully blocking Bokuto’s first attempt at a straight.

“See?” he quips as he winks at Oikawa through the net. “That’s the good thing about my guess blocking. I might lose muscle mass, but I never lose my intuition.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, but as the afternoon wears into evening he starts to notice things–like the way Tendō’s eyebrows twitch every time he blocks a ball, the way he flicks his tongue over his bottom lip when he’s concentrating, catching his piercing between his teeth as he does so.

It’s utterly obscene, and all Oikawa can think about is how it felt to–

He curses when his own jump serve goes out of bounds.

Tendō whistles and claps his hands together, entirely too amused. “Don’t mind, don't mind, Oikawa- _ san _ ! There's always next time!” he sing-songs, and Oikawa wrinkles his nose.

“You okay there, princess?” Kuroo murmurs when Oikawa takes his place on the court again. “You seem a little off today. Need a minute to cool off?”

Oikawa’s eyes flash. He glances over at Tendō, who's watching him with an expression that can only be described as predatory. His lips are twisted in a wicked grin, eyes half lidded and stray hairs clinging to his forehead, red vines around his neck.

“Not at all. I'm perfectly fine,” Oikawa replies, smile sugary sweet despite the savory heat trickling down his spine. "Why do you ask?”

Kuroo smirks as he pushes his fringe out of his face. “Oh, I dunno,” he says, his eyes flicking past Oikawa. “You seem a little...shall we say… Tender?”

_ “Nice serve!” _

Oikawa whips back to focus on the other side of the net, jaw clenched. “You’re _ dead _ to me.”

"I'll keep that in mind next time you want to come over for dinner," Kuroo replies in a chipper tone, right before the ball comes over the net. It's a floater, but their libero doesn't have much trouble picking it up.

"Coming right at you, Onoda-kun!" Oikawa shouts before setting the ball. He looks on with smug satisfaction as their main wing spiker draws Tendō's attention away so that one of their outside hitters can slam it cross-court, right on the line.

Tendō lets out a loud, strangled squawk that, by all accounts, should’ve belonged to a bird instead of a human being.

"Hey,  _ Saaaacchan _ ." Oikawa bares his teeth. "What was that about _ intuition _ ?"

"Oh, ho ho... That's it, you little shit," Tendō snarls as he cracks his knuckles one by one. "It's fuckin'  _ on _ ."

✾✾✾

“Not half bad for someone who spends most of their time cooped up in a studio these days,” Kuroo remarks after they’ve shut down the gym for the night. The guys from the neighborhood league have already split off and now the four of them–Kuroo, Bokuto, Tendō, and Oikawa–are lounging on the steps outside the gym, which, much like the gym itself, are in desperate need of repair. Vines are sprouting through the cracks in the concrete, curling around the rusty railing.

“How'd it feel to be on the court again?" Kuroo asks as he pulls his  _ Suntory Sunbirds _ track jacket out of his bag and throws it on before zipping it up. It’s not cold, but the sun has gone down and even Oikawa’s shivering a bit when the wind hits the damp hair curling at the back of his neck.

"Mmmm. Like paradise," Tendō replies, a sad, wistful whistle that makes Oikawa pause scrolling down his Twitter feed. Tendō's movements are slow as combs his fingers through his hair, careful not to let the strands catch on his cartilage piercings. Oikawa has trouble making out his expression in the shadows, but he's sure that it's distant, spaced in gold memory.

Then, like gold, it's gone, and he's leering up at Oikawa. "I didn't realize how much I missed seeing Tōru-kun’s defeated face. The way his lil’ nose wrinkles–"

" _ Gross _ , Sacchan," Oikawa complains, nudging Tendō in the ribs with his foot. "What are you, some kind of sadist?"

"I dunno," Tendō says with a slow, lewd smile. "Am I?"

Oikawa reaches up to grab the towel around his neck with every intention of swatting Tendō with it but Kuroo rests a hand on his shoulder, stilling him.

“Alright, kiddos," he drawls, pushing down a few tufts of spiky hair so he can speak–Bokuto has his arms wrapped around Kuroo's midsection and his face is nestled into Kuroo's neck. "It's gettin' late, and Bo's drooling on me. What're your plans for tomorrow night?”

Tendō yawns big and loud as he rises to his feet, showing all his teeth. “Let’s see… I’ve got a conference call but that’s happening at like—ten, and should be over by twelve, one at the latest. After that I got nothin’.” He turns to Oikawa, cracking his neck. “What about you, pretty boy? You got a yoga class?”

"Yoga? I don't–" Oikawa shakes his head. "I have a few errands to run but I  _ might _ be able to make some time later in the evening,” he replies. “Depends on if Satori poisons me tonight when he makes me dinner.”

“Damn,” Kuroo chuckles as he tries to rouse Bokuto–gentle, rubbing his back through his T-shirt. “Harsh.”

“What about karaoke?” Bokuto croaks as he lifts his head from Kuroo's shoulder. His salt and pepper hair is starting to revert to its natural state with the gel sweated out, curling across his forehead. He wets his palm with his tongue and smooths it back, but it’s a wasted effort. “I think Wednesdays are all day happy hour. Right, Tetsu?”

"Hm. Yeah, I think so,” Kuroo says, stroking his chin. “Wanna go to that place you were talking about the other day? The one with team discounts?"

“For sure. Wish Ushijima join in this time, though,” Bokuto laments as he picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder, almost knocking Kuroo off the step. “Even if he sings the same song every time, I know he likes those little complimentary cookies.” He frowns at Oikawa. “When’s he coming back, anyways? It’s been like... a month since we’ve seen him.”

“Bo, it’s been a week and a half,” Kuroo says, amused.

“Yeah, well.” Bokuto yawns. “What can I say? I miss the dude.”

“Monday,” Oikawa replies as he checks the messages on his phone. There’s one missed call from Ushijima himself, and a couple of text messages too. Anxiety starts to swirl in the pit of his stomach–Ushijima rarely leaves him text messages. If anything, he leaves a thirty second voicemail stating the best time for Oikawa to call him back, with no mention of why he was calling in the first place.

He swipes open the notification with his heart knocking around his windpipe for what feels like the hundredth time that day.

ushiwaka-chan (7:43 PM): Call me when you're available. I don't mind if it's late.

ushiwaka-chan (7:52 PM): I love you.

Oikawa's thumbs are hovering above the screen as his mind scrambles to think up a proper response. A simple  _ I love you, too _ would more than suffice, he knows that, but for some reason he's paralyzed with...fear? Guilt? He doesn’t exactly know why he’d be experiencing either of those emotions but there's no mistaking the cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, the mild tremor in his hands.

_ Shit. _

“Sweet,” Bokuto replies. His voice sounds far off to Oikawa’s ears, like he’s under water. “We should totally make another night of it when he comes back. One last hurrah before the season starts.”

Oikawa swallows as he re-reads Ushijima’s messages for the fourth time. “Sure, Kou-chan,” he mumbles.

Bokuto says something in response, then Tendō, but it’s all white noise. He’s pretty sure he deletes the text message three times before it’s remotely coherent–and even then he manages to fuck it up.

me (8:32 PM): i love u too ♥︎ i’ll call yu laer

me (8:32 PM): you later**

"Everythin' okay, Tōru-kun?"

Oikawa nearly drops his phone over the railing because Tendō is  _ right there– _ he can smell the sharp, unnervingly familiar scent of Tendō's sweat as he hovers over him, the hot breath tickling his ear, fingers sliding under the hem of his track jacket to trace the line of his hip–

It’s too much–suddenly  _ everything _ is too much, all at once. Oikawa shoves him away with his elbow. "I’m fine,” he says, mostly to himself. “Everything’s _ fine _ .” He clears his throat before turning to Bokuto and Kuroo, who have luckily been too distracted kissing to notice Oikawa’s crisis. "Karaoke tomorrow night, then?"

"Sounds like it," Kuroo replies. He and Bokuto pick up their bags and turn to leave, hand in hand. "Nice seein’ ya again, Tendō-san. Lookin’ forward to catchin’ up."

Tendō winks and blows Kuroo a kiss. “Right back ‘atcha, hot stuff.”

Kuroo tips his head in Oikawa’s direction, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your evenin’.”

Oikawa nods stiffly. “Yeah,” he mutters. “You too.”

✾✾✾

“Were you and the cat ever a thing?” Tendō inquires later that night. “‘Cause it sure seems like there’s a bit of...whatchamacallit?  _ Residual sexual tension _ afoot.”

Oikawa shoots a glare at Tendō over the back of the couch, where he’s curled up pouring over the newest issue of  _ Sci-fi Quarterly. _ “Even if we were–which we weren’t–what makes you think I’d ever tell  _ you _ ?”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Tendō protests as he begins setting the dinner table. It’s a small but courteous gesture and Oikawa’s ears burn as he stares down at his magazine. “I gotta know. Was it an F-W-B type thing? One night stand? Unrequited love?” He gasps as he sets down the last piece of silverware. “Was there  _ pining _ ?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He’s  _ exhausted _ , and sore for reasons that have nothing to do with the volleyball match and  _ everything _ to do with the creature bouncing around his kitchen. The nosy questions combined with an acute case of “hangry” are quickly dissolving what’s left of his good mood. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbles as he turns another page. “We’ve only ever been friends.”

It’s not a  _ lie _ , per se. It’s truth enough that Oikawa should be able to sleep tonight, and that’s what’s important.

Tendō shrugs as he grabs the cow-print apron hanging from the side of the fridge. “Fair enough. I’ve always been kinda curious about you two, though,” he admits as he loops it around his neck. It’s  _ much _ too big for him, being Ushijima’s, so he spends a full minute adjusting it before turning to the stove. “The way he looks at ya sometimes makes me wonder.”

Oikawa sinks further into the couch in hopes that it will swallow him, put him out of his misery. His blush has spread from his ears to the rest of his face and he needs his conversation to end,  _ fast _ –before he says something potentially damning.

“Is the food ready yet?”

✾✾✾

After he’s sure Tendō’s down for the night (it hadn’t taken much—the evening’s festivities had apparently drained the last of his energy reserves) Oikawa pads into the dark, empty living room. While his body is barely hanging by a thread at this point, his brain is still in overdrive–no,  _ hyper _ drive.

Ushijima picks up on the fourth ring. There’s a noise of sleepy confusion before his scratchy baritone takes over. ‘ _ Tōru?’ _

Oikawa curls up on the couch, tugging his knees against his chest. “H-hey there, handsome,” he tries to say, but he can’t keep the waver out of his voice; despite the exhaustion nestled deep in his bones, the anxiety from earlier is coiling and twisting like snakes in his gut.

He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey handsome. Sorry I missed your call earlier, we were practicing with the Tokyo duo. Everything okay?”

_‘I-'_ Ushijima stifles a yawn—always so polite. _‘I wanted to see how you were doing.’_ Oikawa can make out the rustle of sheets, a wooden bed frame creaking. He imagines Ushijima, sitting edge of their bed, close-cropped hair fluffed up from sleep and back muscles working as he runs his hands over his face, does his morning stretches, the sun streaming in from the window highlighting his-

_ ‘I apologize if I alarmed you,’  _ Ushijima rumbles, breaking Oikawa’s trance. _ ‘That wasn’t my intention _ .’

Oikawa's lip twitches in a tired smile. “Not at all." The tension in his neck and shoulders is slowly melting away as he listens to Ushijima’s static breathing, but he still feels nauseous. “Thank you for the text messages," he adds. "I always forget you have a romantic side, Ushiwaka-chan.”

Ushijima hums.  _ 'I'm glad you enjoyed them.' _

There's a beat of silence as Oikawa worries his teeth over his bottom lip, picking at the threads unraveling at the bottom of his pajama pants. “Can we...talk for a bit?"

_ ‘But of course.'  _ Ushijima's tone is gentle, attentive and it surrounds him like a warm blanket.  _ 'As long as you need.' _

Oikawa takes a deep breath as he tries to stitch together the events of the last forty-eight hours into a quilt that actually makes sense. “Well...”

✾✾✾

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR STICKIN' AROUND, FOLKS! unfortunately i had some health issues and ~~zine work~~ prior commitments that kept me from finishing this sooner but i'm hoping to be updating at least once a month (at the very least) from now on. i fully intend on finishing this monster and it makes my heart warm to know that so many people are enjoying the ride as much as i am :')
> 
> special thanks goes to:  
> carrie for the incredible beta!! you made this fic so much more fun to read!  
> maëlle for being the best possible moral support i could ever ask for, without you i wouldn't have made it this far and i'm so thankful you're my friend ♥︎  
> becky, amber, errow, AJ and the rest of Twitter Crew for continuing to enable the fuck out of my ushioiten-obsessed ass
> 
> ,,,btw shit's about to Get Real so i apologize in advance but just know that it ends up ok in the end


End file.
